


Of the Very Instant that I Saw You, Did My Heart Fly at Your Service

by sreside94



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship/Love, To a point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sreside94/pseuds/sreside94
Summary: Anne and Gilbert have been in each other's orbit since Anne arrived in Avonlea. Dance practice stirs up feelings neither of them realized were deep within. From there events unfold a little differently from how we expect.(Basically, I'm very disappointed in the two final episodes particularly—but I also think there would have been more depth to their friendship considering Anne was always over at the Blythes' house learning from Mary and then helping Marilla with Delphine.)P.S. Thank you Shakespeare for the title (from The Tempest).
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 68
Kudos: 227





	1. Be Still My Beating Heart

Anne’s breath came hard and fast as if she’d just run the whole length of the Lake of Shining Waters. Her fingers fluttered and fumbled as she grabbed her schoolbag and shoved the strap across her body. Her heartbeat was much too loud in her ears, exhausting itself in its beating like when a loon protecting its young flaps its wings until the threat is gone or it dies.

 _Oh Lord,_ Anne thought. _Please don’t let me die._ She hurried to grab her hat so she could finally breathe in a breath of sweet summer air full of life-giving oxygen. Her lungs certainly weren’t getting enough here in the stale air of the coat room. She spun herself round to hasten out of the schoolhouse and was stopped short by—of course—Gilbert Blythe.

 _Eyes_ , she thought. Her own eyes widened. She remembered herself far faster than the last time she’d come face-to-face with Gilbert Blythe. Oh, how foolish she’d been too. _Eyes_ , she thought again, sidestepping Gilbert to walk—no march—out the door and down the steps. _Was such a statement an observation or a moment of derision?_ “No reason it can’t be both,” she heard in Marilla’s steady voice. _No, Marilla,_ she argued with the imagined spectre. _It was utter foolishness. How can I focus on my studies and be the Bride of Adventure when I can’t even maintain control of my own body?_ It was far too humiliating.

“Stupid dancing,” she muttered as she crushed the long grass beneath her feet. “Stupid dancing. Stupid boy.”

“Ahem.”

Anne whirled around, still breathing hard.

“Afternoon Anne.”

“Oh,” she replied. The wind thoroughly gone out of her sails. “Charlie.”

“I was wondering, uh… may I walk with you a ways?”

“Wait. Do you mean _walk_ with me?”

“Yes. If that’s all right.”

“Of course.”

Anne turned back towards her destination, now walking slow enough to allow Charlie to catch up and meet her stride. Her face, which had before felt like the nerves were on fire, fell slack. Almost as if there was no more Anne inside to animate the flesh.

“Did you enjoy the dance practice?” Charlie asked.

“No. I did not.”

“You seem to be a natural at it.”

She turned to him in ghostly horror. “Me? A natural? Noooo, nonono!” There was suddenly life inside ghostly Anne, though she was just as pale and horrified as before. “If anything, I found the whole affair to be torturous! What a ludicrous waste of time! Queens exams are on the horizon and yet we’re spinning around like dying bees? It’s ridiculous! In fact, I can think of an infinite number of things I’d rather spend my time on instead of participating in that…frippery!”

Anne glanced tentatively at Charlie. She saw him purse his lips and look away—almost rolling his eyes. _The nerve!_ Anne thought. This _is why we would be_ such _an ill match. He can’t even bear my most tame proclamations. How can he not see it?_ She sighed and look forwards once more. “How could you possibly not agree?”

“I worry for you, is all.”

Anne stopped. “Worry for me? Why?”

Charlie slowed to a stop, pivoting back to face her. “You think so much and you’re very emotional.”

Emotional? Anne thought. She raised an eyebrow _. Charlie Sloane, you are a completely and utterly unsympathetic person. And positively patronizing._

“It might damage your ability to have children in the future.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. Did you not know? An overly active mind causes women to be barren.”

Anne could only stare. Her eyes were wide, and not from the same overload of earthly sensations from before, in the schoolhouse, with Gilbert. _Gilbe—no. What does Charlie mean? How is this possible?_ Anne felt akin to Mr. Rochester’s first wife in _Jane Eyre_ , full of blind rage and misery. “Excuse me,” she said in a voice far tinier than her rage. “I must be getting back to Green Gables. Thank you, Charlie, for accompanying me part of the way.”

“But we only walked a couple hundred yards!” he called after her as she marched on her way.

She did not look back. Her steps did not falter. She continued her march right through into the forest where she suddenly saw brown right in front of her. She felt her whole body shudder to a stop, and then stumbled backwards into a tree.

Anne screamed. She screamed the scream she imagined Bertha Antoinette Mason screamed when she was locked in Mr. Rochester’s attic, confined forever with no earthly friends. She screamed until her throat stung and her voice gave out. It was only then that she realized there was a hand on her arm and someone saying her name.

“Anne,” the calm, low voice said. “Anne, are you all right?”

She looked up. _Eyes,_ she thought again. And suddenly tears were streaming down her face and she was doubled over in agony. The hand moved to grip her wrist lightly and another found its way to her upper back, guiding her to sit on a fallen tree stump.

She couldn’t stop the emotional havoc her body was wreaking. Oh, how she sympathized with Ms. Mason. She’d always imagined herself Jane Eyre of course, but today she didn’t have Jane’s resolve of spirit.

The hands rested lightly on her back and wrist until her sobs turned to hiccups. She wiped her nose and face on her glove, only slightly horrified at the mixture of tears and mucus smeared on it when she pulled it away. She looked up finally—into Gilbert’s concerned eyes.

He just looked at her for a moment, frowning. “Anne,” he said. “What happened? One moment, we—we were dancing—you were smiling. Now, you’re crying. Did something happen on your walk home?” His eyes widened. “Was it something I did?”

“Oh, it just had to be you, didn’t it?” Anne muttered to herself.

“Anne, I’m sincerely sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No… sorry. It’s not you.” She huffed. “I know I’m not destined to be a woman of romance and beauty and true love, but I thought I might at least have options.” She sniffed.

“What makes you think you don’t have options? Or beauty, or romance, or love for that matter?”

“Charlie,” she sniffed. “Charlie Sloane said that emotional women are doomed to be barren. And what do I know of it? No one will teach us girls about the science of reproduction. No one cares to tell us girls what is happening to our own awkward, unfortunate bodies. So, while I’ve never thought that intelligence would be a barrier to the nature of being a woman, Charlie Sloane has made me quite aware of how unaware of these issues I am.”

“Also, I don’t understand my own feelings anymore. I used to know exactly where each one came from and how to greet it or transform it or chase it away. Now, I feel as if I were dying at the sight of—” She cut herself off abruptly and took a deep breath. She took care to breathe it out as slowly as she could, looking at her disgusting gloves as she did so.

Gilbert shifted so his body was angled towards hers. He tilted his head. His _breathing is normal_ , Anne thought to herself miserably as she continued make an effort to moderate hers. Finally, should couldn’t stand it any longer. She looked up at him. She couldn’t understand what his face was telling her. She bit her lip and widened her eyes at him pointedly.

“I see,” he said haltingly. “Well, firstly, there’s nothing I’ve seen in my medical experience that would lead me to believe that intelligent women are infertile.”

“Secondly, Charlie Sloane should know better than to spread lies just because he doesn’t understand that some women have depths of emotion and intelligence that he will never feel himself.”

Anne laughed through a hiccup at that one. “He is rather unimaginative, is he not?” she said quietly. “Women are everything men are.”

“You’d think that you matching all my scores would be proof enough.” He nudged her gently with his shoulder.

“Matching? I think you meant to say exceeding.”

“In your dreams, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

“Oh, but Gilbert, my dreams are reserved for things that are far too extraordinary to actually be true.”

“Yeah?” His eyes were intense on hers and a smirk played on his lips. “What do you dream of, Anne?”

It took all Anne’s grit not to let the truly moronic answer that was bubbling to the lips spill out. _Eyes_ was certainly not something she wished to repeat. Instead she searched her brain until it lit on what they’d been discussing before. “Oh no. You were in the middle of answering my concerns. So? Thirdly?”

Gilbert frowned, thinking back. “I really would like to help you, Anne. But I don’t think I can. I’ve been having trouble understanding my own feelings myself.”

He looked down at her; she was gazing up at him with her large blue eyes set against her pale face. After a moment, she shook herself and stood up, extending a hand to pull him up. “Well, if the Great Gilbert Blythe doesn’t know, it shall have to be our next subject of inquiry.”

He stood, watching her, as she began to stroll down the forest path. “I’d like that.”

She turned and he was hit with the radiance of her smile and her bright eyes. She was so resilient, his Anne—Anne. Just Anne.

“Come on!” she called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I'm very excited. I have *so* many feelings about these characters. I really want to do them justice. So, if you're interested in being an intrepid beta reader, please message me on tumblr (https://writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I'll also take your love and constructive criticism.
> 
> Much love <3


	2. What Makes a Cake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to note: I'm experimenting with walking the fine line of writing a parallel universe. Some events will unfold the way they did in the series and some slightly differently up until a certain point where we will see a divergence in cannon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and look forward to your thoughts!

“Have you decided what you’re going to make for the county fair, Anne?”

Anne looked up from her slate to Diana’s earnest face. She frowned down at Diana’s slate, which was blank—not full of calculations, and shook her head. “Sorry, what did you say Dearest Diana?”

“I asked if you’ve decided what you’re going to bake for the county fair.”

“Oh, I’m not sure yet.”

“If you want, I can find some recipes and we can decide together after school. I’m sure Mother would allow it. Choosing a dessert to suit a particular occasion is _surely_ one of the duties of a lady.” Diana rolled her eyes and smiled.

Anne was looking down at her slate again, smudging a number to write a new one in its place. She looked back up at Diana. “That sounds wonderful, but I’m looking after Delly after school. Marilla has some errands to run.”

Diana’s face fell. _Not that Anne noticed_ , she thought to herself. Diana quickly pasted a smile back on her face by the time Anne glanced back at her. Anne put down her chalk and took one of Diana’s hands in hers.

“We’ll have such fun at the fair. I promise. The day will be for bosom friends and kindred spirits only.”

Diana smiled tightly and nodded. But Anne was already hard at work on the mathematics problem on her slate.

By the time Miss Stacy had ended class for the day, Diana had accomplished nothing. _What was the point?_ she thought as she made her way to the cloakroom while everyone else stayed back for an extra _Queen’s_ lesson.

She took her time walking home. She was hoping to see a certain farm boy. His kisses always made her stomach flutter and set her skin on fire. She kept glancing around for signs of Jerry, but she couldn’t find him. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Her skin flushed when she thought back to their rendez-vous in the forest. However, there was a certain discomfort in her stomach that felt distinctly different from the butterflies—more like a ball of lead.

Diana could sense that Jerry wanted more than stolen kisses. He’d given her _Frankenstein_ to read. It was sweet, and he was sweet. And the book was actually thrilling, full of longing and regret. She wondered if Jerry sometimes felt like the creature—of course he wasn’t at all monstrous in figure, but he was in such a different class of society than her, or even Anne, that perhaps he felt a bit ostracized in a similar way. She sighed.

Maybe it was for the better that her house was coming into view and she hadn’t seen Jerry in the trees. Her prospects at home were dull as dishwater. _But,_ she thought, _at this point, what isn’t dull in my life?_ _I’m not permitted to do anything interesting, and Anne is so preoccupied with exam preparation and helping Bash that she doesn’t even care to think about my feelings._

Diana’s eyes widened in horror. She mentally shook herself for having such selfish thoughts. Anne was helping a friend in need who had lost his wife. And who was Diana to blame her friend for following her academic studies?

As Diana walked up the steps to her front door, she felt tears pushing into the corners of her eyes. _This won’t do_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother’s whispered in the back of her mind. Diana clenched her jaw and her hands before taking a deep breath and relaxing both as she exhaled.

She opened the door.

* * *

“What shall it be Delly?” Anne was sitting at the Blythe kitchen table with Delly beside her in her basket. Anne was flipping through the book of Mary’s recipes she’d copied out for Delly.

“What’s that you say?” Anne said as Delphine cooed. “Something divine? Well, I should think so. Perhaps something the judges won’t have tasted before…or maybe something traditional with some Mary flare? What do you think?”

The door opened and Gilbert walked in. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Anne. I thought Marilla was supposed to come by today.”

“She was here, but she had some errands to run, so I said I’d look after _this_ little one. She’s going to help me make one of Mary’s recipes for the county fair. Aren’t you, Delly?” Anne waved Delly’s little hand, which had latched onto her finger.

Gilbert stood in the doorframe, watching. When Anne looked away from the baby towards him, he hastened to close the door and put down his bookbag. He sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table to Anne, placing his forearms on the table and leaning in.

“Have the two of you decided yet?” he asked.

“No.” Anne smiled. “I wish I could ask Mary which recipe would be best.” She looked down at Delly, her face falling a bit. “You know your obituary for her was beautiful.”

Anne was still looking at Delphine. Her mouth was twitching, and she pressed her lips firmly together to stop them. She couldn’t help the rebellious tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes. _Thank you, God, for letting these tears be silent_ , she prayed. She sniffed—though probably not daintily like Diana would have—and looked up at Gilbert.

He hadn’t moved. He was still leaning over the table towards her, his eyes intently watching her. When he spoke, he did so quietly. “Thank you,” he said.

She nodded, sniffing again and wiping her tears on her sleeve. She turned fully towards the table and fingered the edges of the recipe cards. “I miss her. I miss her so much.”

His hands covered hers, stopping the mindless motion. “Me too.”

For a few moments they just looked at each other. Anne felt as if their spirits were connected by the bonds of sorrow. It was so wonderful not to be alone for once. She smiled through her tears at him, and he smiled back.

Delly shrieked and began to wail, startling both of them. Anne turned to the baby, speaking words of comfort. Gilbert stood and hurried around the table to pick Delly up and rock her. Anne watched him murmur to Delly and swing her from side to side. Something bubbled up inside Anne. An emotion. It started in her stomach and continued toward her throat.

There was something so tender in the interaction between baby and uncle. Anne found herself crying again. This time she had no idea why. _Why, Heedless Emotions?_ she thought. _What are you trying to tell me?_

Of course, it was then that Bash came through the door, interrupting Anne’s internal monologue. He looked tired from a day’s labour, but he smiled so brightly when he saw the scene before him. His child was in the arms of her uncle—one of the safest places she could be.

Anne excused herself, stating that she had chores to attend to at home. She squeezed Bash’s shoulder on her way out and waved at Gilbert who nodded back as he rocked Delly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading! I've been thinking about, writing, and rewriting all week. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'm still in search of a beta reader.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at writingaloveaffair!
> 
> PS What kind of cake do you think Anne baked for the fair? What kind of flare do you think Mary's recipe would have had?


	3. In This Weather, in This Windy Storm

Every noise grated on Diana’s nerves in a way she couldn’t explain. Minnie May’s footsteps pounded in her ears. Her mother’s _tsks_ as she examined her needlepoint pricked her skin. Diana closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. She felt like a kettle about to whistle. If so much as _one_ more thing—

She swallowed. There was no good to come of an outburst. Her parents didn’t listen—didn’t care. At least they were letting her go to the county fair. It would have been cruel to deny her since the whole town would be there. It was _the_ summer event. And she would finally see Anne outside of school.

It had been a trying year in so many ways. Diana knew that she had nothing to complain about. She lived a comfortable life with the latest fashions, both her parents, and no chores to speak of. She didn’t have to learn to run a farm and care for a baby whose mother had died, and she didn’t have to teach a boy to cook or help make sure both her farm and his ran smoothly on top of homework. But she was still miserable. And there was nothing she could do about it. At least her friends were _doing_ things.

“Mother,” she said. “I’ve finished my needlepoint. May I practice now?”

Mrs. Barry was slow to look up. She blinked at Diana a couple times when she did. “Sorry, dear?”

Diana thrust her finished embroidery towards her mother. “May I practice now?”

Mrs. Barry took the embroidery hoop while staring daggers at Diana. But Diana knew this trick—she glared right back but with a pleasant smile pasted on her face. Her mother reciprocated, then looked down to examine Diana’s work. She nodded once. “Yes, you may.”

Diana grinned, though she quickly stopped when she caught Mrs. Barry’s eye.

“Not Mahler, Diana.”

“Yes, mother.”

Diana sat in front of the pianoforte. She took a breath and began to play.

“I haven’t heard this one. Who is it?”

“Cécile Chaminade.”

“Who?”

“She’s the composer who played at Aunt Josephine’s winter party last year. _Elle était magnifique._ ”

“Hmm,” was the reply. However, Diana heard as clear as if her mother had said it aloud: _I’d prefer you play something more traditional_.

 _Well, bully for you_ , Diana thought. She continued to play _Danse créole_. She poured her soul into the piece, thanking both God and Aunt Jo for sending her the sheet music of Mlle Chaminade’s latest works. It was perhaps a slightly more…lively…rendition than the personal, handwritten instructions intended. However, for a few minutes Diana didn’t try to _be_ anything; her fingers guided her; and she allowed herself to feel.

* * *

Gilbert looked down at the white shirt he had on and then squinted into the mirror. He couldn’t decide. Bash was right—they looked the same. That was part of the problem. He only owned so many shirts: two general work shirts, one with short sleeves and one with long sleeves; and one Sunday shirt.

He ran his fingers through his hair roughly. He would wear the Sunday shirt. It required cufflinks, but it really was the only option. Winnie’s family obviously had money, and to wear anything less would make him look ridiculous next to her.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he told himself as he saddled Llamrei. _I’ll look ridiculous regardless next to such finery, but a little less so with cufflinks._ He swung himself up onto the saddle, and nudged Llamrei with his heels. The horse took off at a trot, but with Gilbert’s urging, she began to canter across the field.

Gilbert felt a peace settle over him. Riding was unlike anything else in his life. It required a full body focus that Gilbert couldn’t find in academics or farm work. He and Llamrei moved in tandem like parts of one moving piece of machinery. All he had to do was look in the direction he wanted to go, and the horse adjusted to the subtle twist of his body.

The air was fresh and the world sped by him. Gilbert let out a cry that could have been taken for a whoop of joy. He certainly felt tension leave his body with the noise. Then he saw Green Gables. Llamrei’s stride shortened slightly, and Gilbert was sure she could sense his hesitation. Matthew was the closest thing to a father figure Gilbert had who might have a spare pair of cufflinks. He was sure Matthew wouldn’t mind lending him some.

 _So, Blythe,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his head. _Why are you so twitchy?_

 _I just want to make a good impression on Winnie’s parents,_ he replied.

 _Why?_ “Fond enough to marry her?” Bash’s words rang through his head.

Gilbert swung himself off of his horse, trying to rid himself of the thoughts as he did so. After hitching Llamrei to the post in the yard, he hurried to the door. Through the screen he saw Anne bent over the table, concentrating hard with a knife in her hand—Anne who made things _complicated_. He took a breath. _Act natural, Blythe_.

“Hi there!” he said from the other side of the door. _Not quite…_ he thought. He entered the house, trying to recover. “Is Matthew home? I was hoping to borrow a pair of cufflinks.”

Anne stood up to face him jerkily. He was startled by her appearance. Flour covered her green dress; hair broke loose from her braids; a tear glistened on her cheek. She sniffed, wiping her nose and patting down the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braids. He said the first thing that came to mind. “Have you been chopping onions?”

Instantly he regretted it. _Stupid, stupid Blythe,_ he thought. _That’s obviously a cake. A cake for the fair. Mary’s cake!_ She was crying because of Mary. Anxiety was making him dull. _Odd_ , a calmer, analytical part of him observed. _I’ll have to make note of that for later._

“Sorry, that was stupid,” he said. “Um… are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes.” Anne said, clearly flustered. She stood with her hands shaking at her sides. This was the first time he’d seen her so…scared? It wasn’t a word Gilbert had ever associated with Anne before this moment. Anne was bold; she was emotional, yes, but nothing scared her. He was stepping towards her to comfort her when the back door swung open revealing Matthew holding a giant radish.

“Gilbert needs cufflinks!” Anne yelled in Matthew’s direction and ran upstairs, leaving Gilbert and Matthew staring at the spot where she’d disappeared.

“So, cufflinks,” Matthew said.

Gilbert nodded. His body felt stiff and awkward all of a sudden. He followed Matthew into the man’s room wondering what just happened.

“Special occasion?” Matthew asked opening a drawer and pulling out a couple items.

“Oh,” Gilbert said. _Winnie,_ he reminded himself. _Today is about Winnie and meeting her parents._ “Uhh, no. Not really.”

“Hmm,” Matthew replied, handing Gilbert the cufflinks.

“Thank you.” Gilbert nodded and shuffled back through the house and out to his horse. _Winnie,_ he repeated silently. He mounted Llamrei. _And her parents are Mr. and Mrs.—_

A loud sneeze pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced around and saw no one. He glanced up and saw a pale face and red hair in the gable window. He waved at Anne—she flashed her hand back—and set off down the lane, repeating Winnie’s parents’ names to himself, but unable to erase the petrified pale face surrounded by fiery tendrils from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Gustav Mahler who, as Captain Holt from B99 has pointed out, was the bad boy of his time. Not only did he have a cameo in Diana's world, but he also provided the title for this chapter. 
> 
> Also, how terrible was Gilbert's handling of Anne's tears in this scene? And then for her to be upstaged by a radish!   
> Also, also: Do plants grow that big in real life? I must know!


	4. That Boy Is Not Your Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for posting this late! I aspire to post on Saturdays, but the world has kind of caught up with me. I think I should be back on track now!

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Gilbert waited at the Avonlea station. Bash had dropped him off before heading to the fair with Delly. Gilbert wished his friend was still here so he could share his distress with someone. On second thought, he didn’t. It was better that he meet Winnie and her parents on his own first.

Winnie had been remarkably professional when she’d met Bash the first time. However, he wondered if he ought to prepare them to meet Bash—that wasn’t the right choice of words. _They shouldn’t need time to prepare to be decent human beings_ , he thought. It was more that he wanted to protect Bash from the prejudice he had to face everywhere he went, solely on the colour of his skin.

Of course, Bash made his own decisions and he and Mary had found friends in Avonlea, but it made Gilbert so angry any time he remembered how Clayton wouldn’t serve Bash. Even Marilla and Matthew did a terrible job of hiding their discomfort the first time they met. Gilbert realized he was tapping his foot nervously on the platform. He couldn’t stop the nervous movement altogether, but he did channel it into fiddling with his hat instead.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard the train’s piercing warning whistle. Gilbert decided as the train pulled in that he would see how Mr. and Mrs. Rose behaved before introducing them to Bash. If they were kind to the other townsfolk and the men working the fair, he thought they’d be safe enough for Bash. He wiped his hands on his pants, watching as the train pulled in.

Once the steam engine had stopped, people began descending from the carriages. Gilbert craned his neck to watch for Winnie’s blonde ringlets. When he saw her, he smiled in relief. “Hi W—”

“Mr. Blythe!” she said, cutting him off. “Wonderful to see you again and in such fine weather.”

“Y-yes.” He stumbled over the word, caught a bit off guard. “It certainly is fine weather.”

A distinguished man in a grey suit stuck out his hand. “Mr. Blythe, we’ve heard so much about you.”

“Mr. Rose,” Gilbert said, taking the offered hand. “It’s lovely to meet you. And Mrs. Rose, a pleasure.”

Winnie’s mother resembled her a great deal Gilbert noticed. Her hair was silver where Winnie’s was blonde, but they had the same smile, wide and genuine. Mrs. Rose nodded at Gilbert and said, “Don’t worry—all good things!”

Gilbert took a second to piece together that her words accompanied Mr. Rose’s. _And you think you’re bright enough to be a doctor, Blythe_ , he chided himself. He smiled at Mrs. Rose. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Winnie laughed, and it broke the tension a little. Gilbert was grateful. He glanced at Winnie and her mother before asking Mr. Rose, “Shall we head over?”

“Yes, let’s,” the gentleman said. “You can tell me more about Avonlea and how you came to know Dr. Ward.”

“Of course,” Gilbert replied, leading them off of the platform and towards the fair tent.

* * *

_That boy is not your fish. That boy is not your fish. That boy is not your fish._

The words of the fortune teller spun round and round Anne’s head. To go from believing she knew who might love her to knowing that no one ever would. She shouldn’t be upset after all she kept telling people she’d be the Bride of Adventure, but she’d hoped that in spite of her looks and her lack of decorum she might find someone who would marry her. It was her one flaw, she reflected. _Well, one of them_ , she amended. She was romantic despite the evidence that her life would not yield such results.

Anne shook herself from her reverie as she exited the fortune teller’s tent. She had to get to the cake competition! She took off at a gallop.

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m—” Anne skidded to a halt in front of the judges’ table and…looked directly into the eyes of her once beloved. She froze—as she’d been doing of late—and glanced from Gilbert and the beautiful blonde girl holding his arm. So, this was the girl—no, woman—who had changed the course of her life forever.

“Oh,” exclaimed the woman softly. Her eyes widened with curiosity and she looked inquisitively at the girl with the windswept red head in front of her.

“This is Anne, my classmate and family friend,” Gilbert said, looking at Anne.

Winnie smiled widely. “Hello, Anne. Do you spell it with or without an _E_?”

Anne blinked to rehydrate her eyes. Fragments of thoughts swirled as she tried to make sense of Gilbert standing in front of her. And this woman with such perfect ringlets in her hair. _She’s so refined,_ was Anne’s first coherent and objective thought. Then she remembered herself.

“Oh, with an _E_ ,” Anne said, smiling suddenly. It wasn’t this woman’s fault she was so beautiful as to capture Gilbert’s attention. “How delightfully kind of you to ask! No one ever does.”

“Anne,” Gilbert said. “This is my, uhh…”

Turning to him, Anne waited expectantly. _Your_ what, _Gilbert?_ she seethed inwardly. Did dance practice mean nothing?

“Winifred,” Winifred supplied, extending her hand with a smile but glancing quizzically at Gilbert.

Winifred’s hand was warm and she was frowning at Gilbert. Anne tried to think. So much had happened today; it was difficult know what she was feeling or why. And why was she here again? Marilla’s plum puffs maybe?

“Ooh! It’s you, Anne,” Marilla said. “Your cake.”

Anne turned to look at the judges slicing into her cake. “Wonderful presentation,” one said.

“It’s the Lake of Shining Waters!” Anne said. She was exceptionally proud of her cake. Marilla smiled.

“A little ostentatious,” another judge muttered.

Anne stood stock still as the judges took their first bite of the cake. It felt like an age as the forks glided into the slice and up into their mouths. Anne held her breath as the judges chewed and…promptly spit the cake out. Anne felt her heart stop, only wait a moment before making up for lost time by going four times as fast as it usually did.

“It tastes like _liniment_!”

Anne’s vision was blurred. She realized her feet were carrying her somewhere. She didn’t know where. She kept running. _This is the worst day of my life_ , she thought. _First Gilbert, now this!_

“Anne! Anne!” She heard a voice behind her. Her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her ribcage. She couldn’t breathe and so she slowed and stopped. Gilbert caught up to her. _Ugh_ , she thought. _I have to talk to him when my heart is broken. I hope my tragical day is making someone find some joy somewhere._

“It’s fine,” she said, breathless. “I’m fine. Honestly, I wish you two every happiness.”

Gilbert shook his head slightly. Anne’s eyes were on his and her chest was heaving as she caught her breath. “I-I was just going to say that…Mary would’ve found that really, really funny.”

“Right.” _The cake_. _He wanted to talk about the cake._

“All those fancy judges. Their faces! That woman who said the cake was ostentatious—it served her right.”

 _She was a bit rude,_ Anne thought. She smiled tightly. “Yeah, she would have.” They stood there for a moment. Anne remembered the beautiful woman waiting for Gilbert in the competition tent. Her heart was in her throat again.

“Thanks,” she blurted and hurried away, noting bitterly that she was leaving Gilbert standing alone in front of the Tunnel of Love. 

* * *

Men shouted for the “young gentlemen” to step right up, play games, and win prizes for their sweethearts. Diana imagined Jerry stepping up and hitting every target. His limbs were on the gangly side, but he had the strength and agility of someone who used their body, who actually _worked_. She imagined them walking hand in hand around the fair. She shivered despite the June heat.

Diana swerved to avoid someone who was at least twice as tall as a normal person. She stared up at them in awe. She grinned, looking around to find Anne and share this moment. But Anne was nowhere to be seen. As Diana wove her way through the crowds, she heard Josie’s and Billy’s fathers discussing something to with farming and the future. Her heart plummeted. Her parents could barely look Baynards in the eye, let alone entertain the thought of speaking to them. Something heavy settled in her stomach, and suddenly Diana felt tears coming on.

 _Where is Anne?_ she thought. Anne always knew how to cheer her up. There was always an adventure to be had and joy to be found. _Today was supposed to be for us. For kindred spirits._ Diana sighed. She looked around the hordes of people but saw no red hair. Diana felt like she was always a couple steps behind these days, that Anne was off on those dramatic adventures without her.

By the time Diana saw beautiful the blonde ringlets and blue eyes, it was too late to move out of the way. She collided with the woman.

“Oh, dear!” the woman said.

“Sorry!” Diana blurted. “I’m so sorry!”

“Diana,” a familiar male voice said.

“Oh, hi Gilbert,” Diana said, before remembering that she was supposed to be angry with him.

“Are you both all right?” he asked.

“Yes, quite all right.” The blonde woman smiled at him, smoothing down her bodice.

“Again, I do apologize,” Diana said. “Miss…”

“Rose.”

“Miss Rose.”

“Oh,” Gilbert said. “Miss Winifred Rose, this is Miss Diana Barry. We go to school together. She’s a friend of Anne’s.”

“Ah. Pleased to meet you, Miss Barry.” Miss Rose held out her hand daintily.

“You too, Miss Rose.” Diana took the hand. She smiled, then, just as quickly, frowned. _Who was this Miss Rose to be on the arm of Gilbert Blythe?_ Anne’s _Gilbert._ Diana smoothed her expression, hoping Miss Rose hadn’t noticed the flurry of emotion. “I haven’t seen you in church.”

Miss Rose smiled though there was a glint of steel in her eye. “Oh, no. I attend church in Charlottetown.”

“So, you and Gilbert met in the city?”

“Yes, I work for Dr. Ward. Mr. Blythe here walked in on me with my dear friend Mr. Bones, and I’m afraid Mr. Bones has never quite recovered.”

Gilbert snorted. Diana looked from one to the other, frowning. “I see,” she said slowly. She turned to Gilbert. “Have you seen Anne?”

Diana saw Miss Rose’s lips tighten in their smile as she tilted her head expectantly at Gilbert. _Interesting_ , Diana thought.

“I last saw her over there,” Gilbert said, pointing in the direction of the competition tent.

“Oh! Did she win with Mary’s cake?”

Gilbert smiled. “No. It was a bit of a fiasco, but I bet Mary’s laughing right now about it.”

“Is Anne?”

“No.”

Diana glared at Gilbert. He seemed confused by her. _How could a boy with the highest test scores in the class—tied with Anne of course—be so thoughtless?_

Diana took a deep breath and sighed loudly. She smiled. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Rose. Please excuse me. I must go find Anne.”

Miss Rose smiled, and Gilbert nodded. Diana hurried away from them. _Curses_ , she thought. _Where’s Anne?_

* * *

That night was the big dance they’d all been practicing for. It had really cut into their study time, but at least he'd be able to dance well with Winnie. She was truly so much more elegant than anyone Gilbert had ever met. Winnie was fun—wickedly funny and smart. She was pretty too. She was everything a boy could dream of.

And really dancing wasn’t so bad. When the Dashing White Sergeant was announced, their whole class rushed onto the dance floor. Winnie flashed a bright smile at Gilbert as they found their places.

Anne happened to be in their set. As they danced in the round, she shouted at Winnie over the music about how being up so high in the sky made her feel like but the tiniest drop of water in a bucket. Winnie was laughing and saying the world was wide and it must have been magnificent to see it. Something tightened in Gilbert’s chest as he overheard this conversation, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He just knew if felt different from the feeling of tightness he felt during dance practice.

He pushed the feeling down and decided to have a nice time dancing with Winnie. The whole town was out and spirits were high. Everyone was clapping and shouting, and Winnie was smiling at him.

“How dare you spread nasty rumours about my friend!” A voice cut through the chatter.

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have eyes, and I can see that she is devastated. You shouldn’t have touched her, Billy!” Anne was shouting. A hush went over the barn.

“Well…I guess she regrets having loose morals.”

A flash of pink flew through the room and out the door—Josie. Billy stared Anne down. Then scoffed and left her standing in his wake, seething.

Billy Andrews was a reprehensible person—Gilbert knew that well. Billy was there the time he met Anne, and Gilbert stood up for her when she couldn’t for herself. And here she was standing up for someone else. _Incredible_ , he thought.

“What a horrid boy!” said a voice by his side. Winnie.

“Yes, he’s always been.”

“Well, we must do something.”

And just like that Winnie was off to talk to Anne. Gilbert watched them talk—Winnie was saying something earnestly to Anne, and Anne was nodding vigorously.

Everyone was starting to break back up into the groups they came in. Winnie’s father cleared his throat next to Gilbert. Gilbert looked up at the distinguished gentleman.

“We’d best be off,” he said. “Got to catch the last train.”

“Of course,” Gilbert replied. “I’ll go fetch Winnie and escort you to the station.”

“Winnie,” he murmured when he reached her, touching her elbow. “Your parents say you’ll miss the last train if you don’t leave now.”

“Oh,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. She turned back to Anne. “The world can be frightfully unjust. Thank goodness we have warriors like yourself among us.”

“Safe travels!” Anne called as Gilbert led her back toward her parents.

 _How is it that she can feel one thing so whole heartedly one moment and something completely different the next?_ Gilbert wondered. _What kind of creature had that range?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my dear sister who isn't involved in any fandom and hasn't seen the show but reads every single piece I write and gives me her honest feedback on it. She's truly a hero. Also, I'd like to thank Wiggles, my new beta who also knows nothing of Anne but is wonderful at shepherding me in the right direction regardless.
> 
> And, finally, thank *you* dear reader for coming along for the journey. I appreciate you, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	5. A Woman Is No Man's Property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's posting on time this week! *bows* Thank you, thank you!
> 
> Okay, let's be honest. Being on time is all because of my sister (who continues to have great ideas that I get to steal) and the critical support of Wiggles The Great.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on the desk. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. The words ran through his mind over and over: “…an attractive new parcel of land. I mean…wife.” Did she really think so little of him? That he would be negotiating for Winnie as if she were property? Who was she to question him about his intentions to another woman? Anne was always arguing with him—telling him exactly how she felt about any opinion had or action he took. Her temper often flashed so hot, he was unsure of where he stood with her. Of course, he was going to spend time with the woman who actually seemed to enjoy his company.

A small, high voice pulled Gilbert out of his thoughts. “Gilbert?” Ruby was looking expectantly at him. The whole editorial team was, actually.

“Sorry, Ruby. Could you repeat the question? I got lost in my thoughts.”

“Hmph,” she scoffed. “I _said_ , ‘Do you think we should write a retraction?’”

“A retraction?”

“Yes,” she was looking at him like he wasn’t very bright. “Should we make right Anne’s words by writing a formal retraction and telling the world what this team truly thinks about the situation?”

“What _do_ we truly think about the situation? Because I think as much as I disagree with Anne’s methods, I do agree with her words.”

“We can’t say that!”

“Anne got us into this mess,” Moody broke in. “Maybe she should be the one to get us out. She can write a new article saying she was wrong and why.”

Gilbert snorted. “And you think Anne is going to do that?”

“It could be a condition for her to keep writing.”

Gilbert stared at Moody. The door opened to the small storage room and Miss Stacy walked out with purpose. Everyone turned to look at her. Miss Stacy declared that today’s editorial meeting was adjourned until she could decide how they would move forward.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh, all right?”

Towards the end of Miss Stacy’s speech, Gilbert noticed Anne slink out of the storage room and try to sneak out of the building altogether. He grabbed his book bag and followed.

“Anne!” he called after her once they were outside. She turned. “Could I have a word, please?”

“What? Do you want to tell me just _exactly_ how I’ve ruined Josie Pye’s life with my stupid cause?”

“No. I’d like to discuss why you think I would barter for a woman’s—a person’s—future as if she were a piece of land.”

“Well, it was pretty obvious. Need I tell you the kinds of matters two men discuss when one is the father-in-law to be?”

“Is that not a fairly simplistic view of the world?” _Of me?_ He wanted to add.

“Gilbert, I’ve been _in_ the room where men have decided my fate for me because I am a girl. Or an orphan. Or plain. Take your pick. I _know_ that men decide the fate of women every day.” She wasn’t yelling, nor was she crying. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes were so fierce he had to look away.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Not of the world then. Of me.”

He looked up to see her face fall. Her shoulders hunched slightly. She looked as if she were about say something. He waited. Nothing came. He cocked his head, frowning at her. Her eyes widened and she spun to turn away, but he reached out and grabbed her hand. Though it had been involuntary, an action to say “We’re not done here,” Gilbert made sure his grip was light. He wanted to be reassuring not restrictive in his attempt to continue the conversation.

Anne looked back at him over her shoulder, startled.

“Anne,” he said. “Please don’t run.”

She was as motionless as a deer who’d heard the crunch of a branch under the foot of a hunter.

He let go of her hand. “Why don’t I walk with you to Green Gables, and when you’ve thought of the words you want to say, you can say them?”

She nodded slowly, and they began to walk in silence.

 _Why does she think that I’m like that?_ Gilbert wondered as they walked. _Have I been courting Winnie for her money? No. She’s funny and smart and refined—not like Anne._ Anne was bold and principled and wild. Was there another reason Anne was upset that he had been at the fair with Winnie and her parents? _No,_ Gilbert thought. _That would be ridiculous. She couldn’t…_ It was too ludicrous to even be thought in words.

They were almost at Green Gables’ gate when Anne finally spoke. “Frankly, I found it disconcerting that you were courting someone and that it was so serious—All the girls couldn’t stop talking about it. They asked me about her, but I couldn’t tell them anything because I was just as in the dark as they were—and, Gilbert, I thought we were friends. I thought you would have mentioned _something_ —She’s so much better than any of us, English, wealthy, from Charlottetown, beautiful. Of course, she's lovely in character too—She was ever so sympathetic about Josie after Billy’s transgression…”

All of Anne’s words had come out in a rush. Her thoughts often came abruptly, in a way that some people found off putting but Gilbert found refreshing. The abruptness was a sign of honesty. They’d stopped at the gate to Green Gables, and Anne looked up at him with a determined look in her eyes.

“Well, I wish you both happiness.”

Gilbert frowned. “It isn’t _that_ serious.”

Anne scoffed. “Not serious? Gilbert Blythe, you spent the day at our small county fair with a girl from the city and her parents. You introduced them to Bash and Delly. That’s serious.”

And with that she was off down the lane. He didn’t reach for her this time. He stood in her wake, watching as she broke into a run. Her arms and legs flew like she had no idea they could be controlled at all.

There was a tightness in Gilbert’s chest. _Was this thing with Winnie serious?_

* * *

Diana sat in silence as her classmates bustled around her, discussing the next issue of the newspaper. Throughout the hubbub, she heard muttered accusations and complaints about Anne. Truthfully, Diana thought Anne was in the wrong, and she’d told her so. It was thoughtless of her to have written such a piece without thinking of Josie’s feelings. On the one hand, she could see why Anne had thought it was veiled enough—she hadn’t mentioned Josie by name—but it was so obvious. And Josie didn’t deserve that. Sure, she was cruel occasionally, but none of this particular incident was her fault. _Billy_ had touched her, and she would pay for it.

Diana swallowed at the thought. Women were given no choices, particularly if they were rich. She snorted quietly, looking around the room. Miss Stacy was talking to Ruby about something, and Diana let herself appraise the two. Miss Stacy was tall and plain. As was her custom, she was not wearing a corset. _Scandalous_ , Mrs. Barry’s voice whispered in Diana’s ear. She flinched. As much as she wished her mother was wrong, that money was of no import, it was plain to see that it was. Miss Stacy could do as she pleased because her husband was dead and because she was of no consequence socially. She had a profession. She wore men’s clothing. She had no family. Her reputation was only at risk insomuch as it affected her, and her alone.

Diana compared that to Josie. _Her_ family was important in town. Not as important as some, but the Pyes definitely held sway. Josie couldn’t afford a misstep because her reputation would influence the way her family was seen. Diana was in the same position. She found her mother’s obsession with perception irritating and restrictive. However, she had to admit that there was some truth to her fears.

Out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw Anne shuffling towards the cloakroom on her way out. Diana contemplated going after her friend, but Gilbert beat her to it. Diana clenched her teeth and breathed out through her nose. She angled her body in her seat so she could more easily look out the window to see Anne and Gilbert. Anne was Anne, gesticulating wildly and looking angry. Gilbert looked more hurt. Then Anne seemed to cave in on herself, the way she only did when she felt something so deeply that words were almost too much. It was rare for her, and Diana felt her sorrow as keenly as if it were her own.

Anne was so free. Free to feel and to be wild. She wasn’t confined by what was proper and what was “done.” Still watching her friends, Diana smiled wistfully. Anyone with eyes could tell there was something between Anne and Gilbert, even if they themselves couldn’t see it. She looked away, frowning. What was she to do about Jerry? It wasn’t the same with him. It had been thrilling—this secret beau—but she’d been disappointed to learn that they didn’t have any common interests after all. Of course, he’d given her _Frankenstein_ to read. But she’d wanted to talk about pathetic fallacy and the nature of the doctor, while he’d thought that the monster stealing the dogsled was “crazy.”

He was sweet. She thought again about his similarity to the creature and how he was unfairly ostracized in a similar way due to class. She sighed. What would people say if she went out in public with him? Maybe the best course of action was to let it come to a natural end when she left for Paris.

A nagging voice in the back of her head thought that was a bad idea. Surprisingly, it wasn’t her mother’s voice but Anne’s. _Do you really think so poorly of Jerry that you’d let him think something that was patently false?_ Anne’s voice said. _No_ , Diana thought, pushing back. _You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t know what my life is like anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much is left unsaid between Anne and Gilbert in the show after she hurls her insult at him. I thought that should be remedied. Gilbert has feelings too. And he was obviously hurt. And he's obviously not great at understanding how courting works. (I mean, dude, how can you be so smart and so dumb?)
> 
> Also, poor Diana is such a sidekick to Anne. It's time she had a voice too.


	6. The Inner Turmoil of a Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if Gilbert and Bash had a *real* conversation about Gilbert's love life? I mean, I know Gilbert holds his feelings in, but their conversation in the show was not adequate (and a bit late in the game).

Gilbert stood at the stove, stirring the oatmeal in slow circles.

“I think you’ve about burned that, Blythe,” Bash said from beside him.

Gilbert looked down. He wasn’t stirring oatmeal so much as pushing a clump of porridge around a pot caked in crusted oats.

Bash looked at Gilbert and sighed. “Bread and butter again, then?”

“Sorry, Bash,” Gilbert said. He dropped the spoon and yanked the pot off the stove, grunting as he opened the door with one hand dropped it outside. He slammed the door shut and turned back to the kitchen. Bash was looking at him from his seat at the table. “I’ll bring it out to the pigs on my way to school.”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

Gilbert let out a noisy breath as he clattered around the kitchen, grabbing a knife and plates. He sat, sinking his whole body into the chair, only to remember the butter. He braced his hands one the table to stand, but Bash’s hand rested on his arm.

“Gilbert,” he said, gently placing the butter on the table. “I know it’s been a hard few months, but you gotta talk to me.”

“I can’t Bash. It’ll sound ungrateful.” _Because it is._

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Gilbert looked up at Bash, startled. Bash smiled.

“I’ll let you know if you’re being ungrateful. How ‘bout that?”

Gilbert closed his eyes. _Where to even start?_ he wondered. The silence stretched. Gilbert made a motion to speak and then stopped. Bash waited. He sat and gave Gilbert his full attention. Gilbert tried to speak again and failed. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes again.

“Does it have to do with that pretty girl from Charlottetown?” Bash asked.

Gilbert looked up. “Yes…and no.”

“Okay. How does it have to do with her?”

“I don’t—I’m not sure—I really like her company. She’s very worldly and she has such a sharp wit.”

“But? Well, there is a but isn’t there?”

“But I don’t feel like I really know her. There are all these rules about how we can interact, and I don’t understand any of them. My father is dead, so I can’t ask him. You and Mary seemed to hit it off right away, and it seemed like you were married the next day. And A— _someone_ told me that this thing, this courtship, with Winnie is serious—and I like her, but I didn’t mean for it to become serious, and now I’m not sure what to do. How do I get to know her without it being serious?” Gilbert was on a roll now. “And anyway, I don’t know if going to college next year is the right thing. Doctors seem to be able to do so little for their patients. And you’re struggling to take care of Delly and the farm _with_ me here, so how will you do it without me? Maybe I should just stay here and forget about Queen’s or the Sorbonne or any of it.”

Gilbert took a breath. He felt a bit startled that so many words had come out of his mouth. He hadn’t been aware he’d had so many thoughts tucked away. He looked at Bash, who—though he had bags under his eyes and looked exhausted—was smiling slightly.

“That’s an awful lot to keep all to yourself, Blythe.”

Gilbert frowned. “You’re not angry that I’m being ungrateful for all that I have?”

“Gilbert. We’ve had a hard year. Had you told me—had you told me what would come to pass, I wouldn’t have believed you.” Bash looked to where Delly was sleeping in her basket. He paused. “I don’t know how we’ve carried on without her. But we have. And we will.”

Gilbert nodded. He put his hands on his knees to get up but Bash spoke. “This has nothing to do with a certain red-haired girl who’s been here to teach you to cook and look after Delly?”

Gilbert swallowed. “Anne’s my only friend in Avonlea besides you. I can’t ruin that. And besides she’s always going on about how she’ll be the ‘Bride of Adventure.’”

“Hmm,” was Bash’s reply. “All I’m saying is you should think on what your ‘friendship’ with Anne means to you and what your courtship with Winnie means. She’s not wrong—bringing Winnie to Avonlea was a big step. You should think about what the next one will be.”

Gilbert sat still for a moment, taking some time to reflect on Bash’s words. Bash looked at him with sympathy in his eyes and said in a gently teasing tone, “Don’t you have school today? Wouldn’t want to fail your exams because of a girl.”

Sighing, Gilbert stood up. “You’re right,” he said. He shoved the remaining slice of bread into his mouth, grabbed his book bag, and headed out the door, careful to grab the pot of inedible oatmeal as he left.

Gilbert scraped as much of the burnt oatmeal into the pigs’ trough as he could, before hurrying towards the schoolhouse. A brisk walk and fresh air would do him some good. He needed to think on what Bash had said about taking the next step with Winnie.

He wished Mary were still here. She always knew what to say and had much better advice than Bash. Bash was all philosophical, asking Gilbert to “think about what the next step will be.” Mary would take him aside and say something like, “If you care about this girl, you’ll act purposefully because the next thing you do could decide her future,” and then tell him what his options were.

He kicked at a stick in the path.

“What did that stick ever do to you, Gilbert Blythe?” Anne’s cheery voice said from the other road at the fork that was merging.

He groaned inwardly. This was just what he needed: Anne interrupting his thoughts about his future. “Nothing.”

“Well, that stick must have done something in its past life to upset someone as upstanding as you.”

Gilbert gritted his teeth. “I’m not upstanding.”

Anne frowned. “That is literally what you are. You defend people because they are people. Your family are those you chose. You are going to be a doctor who cares for and heals people.”

“Stop. Stop saying that, Anne. If I become a doctor, all I’ll do is sentence people to death and abandon my family. If I don’t, I’ll be a farmer in a town where I have one friend.”

Anne stopped. “No. Gilbert—no! That’s not true.”

Gilbert kept walking. She ran to catch up with him. “Please, Gilbert. Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

“It’s not sudden. Not really. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. If I go to college next year, I’m abandoning Bash and Delly. Even with Marilla’s and Rachel’s help—and yours—it’s been difficult to keep the farm running and us fed. If I leave, where will Bash and Delly be?”

Anne’s face fell. She took Gilbert’s hand and held on until he stopped and they were both standing in the field before the schoolhouse. “But you’ll be miserable,” she said quietly.

“I don’t know what to do, Anne.” He looked into her sorrowful eyes.

“We’ll come up with a plan. I always think of something.” She smiled thinly.

The school bell startled them apart. Miss Stacy was at the door, calling for them to hurry up. Anne nodded at him once and skipped into the school, greeting Miss Stacy as she passed her, leaving Gilbert to follow.

* * *

Anne couldn’t shake the morose melancholia that had overtaken her. In the past few days, she’d written an article she was exceptionally proud of, hurt a friend in the process, been fired from the paper, offended another friend only to have been entrusted with his innermost worries, and had tasked herself with coming up with a plan to solve his problems.

To be honest, it all felt like a little bit much. What if she tried to help Gilbert and made his life worse, like she had with Josie?

Frustration and rage overtook her, and she began to run through the forest. She crashed through branches. Twigs ripped at her hair and her dress. She continued to rage until she reached the remnants of the story club. She spotted a rock the size of her head on the ground next to the ruined clubhouse. She picked it up and threw it back down as hard as she could, letting out a scream. She kicked and screamed. Then fell onto her knees, sobs emanating from her thin frame.

Her hands rested on a plank of splintered wood. She noticed the piece was decently long as she caught her breath. She looked up at the marker she’d made to celebrate the story club, which was written on a plank like the one beneath her hands. _Freedom of speech is a human right,_ she thought.

She stood slowly, then bent back down to pick the plank of wood. She had an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are again! As always, thank you for reading 💖 I'd love to know your thoughts. Also, a big shoutout to Dianawithaj, who is a consistent commenter and a lovely person!


	7. Action Spurs Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest friends, thank you for being so patient with me. This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, but I'm finally happy with it.

_If you were my friend, you’d understand._ The words reverberated in Diana’s head as she traipsed through the forest. _How dare Anne say such a thing?_ Diana had been there for Anne every step of her journey. She’d stood by her when Anne had first arrived, an orphan and a girl, when she’d cut her hair, when she’d hurt Josie even! How much better of a friend could Diana have been?

 _How dare you call me cruel?_ Diana thought. _I sat and listened to you moan about Gilbert. I lent you one of my best dresses for the fair. I sat with you while you cried about the newspaper and stood up for you at the editorial meeting. What did you do for me? Ignore me for Gilbert and Bash and Delly._

Diana trampled small vegetation as she made her way through a section of forest without a trail. Birds fled from their perches and squirrels skittered to safety. Diana’s rage grew as she realized her power here in the forest. She fainted a lunge at the chipmunk who was peeking out from around a tree trunk. It squeaked and fled. _Serves you right for getting in my way,_ she thought.

A second later, she was on the ground, sitting with her back against one tree, facing the direction of the chipmunk she’d frightened. “I’m sorry,” she said aloud. Then she was crying again.

How could this have happened? She and Anne were bosom friends. She hadn’t meant to keep Jerry a secret from Anne at first. It was just so new…and then she didn’t feel the things she was supposed to feel about him. Anne was well versed in all the highs and lows of romantical love, but Diana hadn’t felt anything like that. Kissing was nice. It made her lips burn and her skin tingle. She felt attractive. She _liked_ it. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. Her mother was clear that a woman’s duties to her husband were to be endured, for love if you were lucky. Anne didn’t agree with this of course, but she was always prattling on about love being the paramount of noble emotions.

But this wasn’t love. Did that make her a bad person? She didn’t think so. She felt vibrant and alive when Jerry’s lips were on hers. How could something so elemental be wrong? Aunt Jo wasn’t wrong for her feelings. “But her feelings were pure,” Anne’s voice inside her head whispered. “Her feelings were of love.” Diana made a noise that was halfway between a shriek and a groan.

“Shut up, Anne,” she shouted at the trees. “Some of us seem to be incapable of such purity.”

Sighing, she wiped her tear-soaked face on her sleeve. _What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I love Jerry? He’s perfectly kind, even if Mother wouldn’t approve._ It felt like something was burrowing in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Anne was right. Not about everything. Definitely not. But she’d been unkind to Jerry. She knew he felt so much more for her than she did for him.

She’d wanted to tell Anne. She had. _You were never around when_ I _needed_ you. The tears came harder. She loved Anne so deeply, and she’d been there for Anne through everything. She didn’t mind doing that. It was what you did for someone you loved. But it didn’t feel like Anne had been interested in returning the favour. She was always so caught up in her own dramas. Was it really too much to ask that Anne notice when Diana was the one who needed help?

No. It wasn’t. Anne should notice her once in a while too. Diana sat, crying in the forest, allowing herself to feel. It was unclear how much time had passed when her eyes were finally dry.

She took a couple of deep breaths before pushing herself up off the ground. This was a devastating blow, yes, but she would carry on. She methodically tidied her appearance, starting by brushing the leaves and twigs from the bottom of her skirt and finishing by wiping her face with her handkerchief. It was time to face the day.

* * *

Anne stomped up to the carriage, throwing the wooden signs from the barn into the back. They clattered loudly as they landed. Startled, Marilla frowned at Anne as she folded the scraps of white cloth she’d collected for the organized action.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” Marilla said sternly. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Anne said.

Marilla huffed. “Really, now?”

“I’ve just had an unpleasant encounter with someone I used to admire. Frankly, I’m disappointed in her—them.”

Marilla’s shoulders lost some of their tension, though her eyes were still sharp. “Well, if you aren’t going to give me a straight answer, why don’t you walk to the schoolhouse? It’ll do you some good to get that energy out before everyone arrives.”

“I doubt it will mend my shattered heart.”

Marilla didn’t reply except to purse her lips and tilt her head.

“You’re right, Marilla.” Anne looked sheepishly at the ground, deflated. “The morning’s fresh, dewy air will lift my spirit and set it down with the determination to see our errand through.”

Marilla smiled at Anne, and with that action, she softened visibly. “Go on then. We’ll see you there.”

Smiling tightly, Anne nodded once and started down the lane at a brisk pace. It wasn’t enough. She broke into a run. She wanted to escape the betrayal and anguish she was feeling. The thoughts spinning round her head were incessant and the only way she’d found to silence them was to run until her brain could no longer form words or to write until all her emotions were expended.

She held her skirts up as she entered the forest. The path to the schoolhouse was well worn, but there were still obstacles to be wary of, roots and such. Her breath came hard and fast as she wound her way between trees. Her mind flickered to Ka’kwet and the way she moved silently through the trees. She was so much more graceful than Anne. It was difficult not to be more graceful than Anne. She thought of herself as a rampaging elephant, large and dangerous, with ugly grey wrinkled skin, stampeding through the jungle.

 _Girls like you always win_ , she thought. _Too many words_ , was her next thought. She willed her legs to move faster. Far too soon, however, she was bursting from the trees and onto the path that cut next to the field by the schoolhouse. She sprinted the last few hundred metres to the schoolhouse itself. Gasping and panting, she knelt next to the stream where she and her classmates stored their milk bottles during the school day to drink from it. She inhaled some of the water in her haste and began to cough. After what felt like several minutes of sputtering and gasping for breath, Anne’s lungs cleared and she sat back on the ground, her breathing laboured but even.

 _How could Diana have done this?_ she wondered. She’d hoped that confronting Diana would help her to understand Diana’s actions or at least her motivations, but she didn’t feel any clarity on the subject. She didn’t understand what kind of person would continue to string along someone as honest and kind as Jerry when she didn’t love him. It hurt bitterly to think that Diana hadn’t trusted her with this confidence for _weeks_ , as well. She’d said it was because Anne wouldn’t understand. Well, she didn’t. Just because something was easy didn’t mean it was right.

“You’re negating our entire friendship over this one small trespass,” Diana had said. How could Anne not take that to heart though? If Diana could lie so easily to Jerry, what was stopping her from lying to Anne? A tear of the sorrow of betrayal ran down her cheek.

She was ripping out tufts of long grass to braid together when Gilbert’s form appeared on the horizon. The first of the editorial team to arrive, he looked around, saw Anne sitting on the ground, and headed in her direction, passing the schoolhouse. She hastily wiped her face on the back of her hand and stood up.

“You’re early,” she said to pre-empt any kind of comment on her wild appearance.

Gilbert frowned at her. “You’re earlier.”

“Well,” Anne said primly. “This _is_ my event. As organizer, I should be the first in attendance.”

“And here I thought the event organizer would be not only punctual but well groomed,” Gilbert teased.

Anne’s eyes widened and she looked down at herself. She was slightly sweaty, but she’d mostly cooled down since her run. “Is it that horrendous?”

Smirking, Gilbert waved a hand at her head. “You might want to tidy your hair.”

As Anne patted her head and started unbraiding the mess of hair, she scoffed. “Tidy, Gilbert? Surely, you must know that one does not _tidy_ one’s hair.”

She saw him roll his eyes but missed the way they lingered on her as she used her fingers to brush out the tangles in her hair. By the time she looked back at him, her fingers were expertly twisting the strands back into place.

This was good, she realized. Their banter had a stabilizing effect. She plowed on. “So why are you here early?”

“There’s only so much of a crying baby a person can take.”

“Is Delly okay? Do you need me to bring any of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup?”

Gilbert smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, but I think we still have some. She’s just a bit cranky this morning, and I was eager to get here anyway.” He strolled over towards the steps of the schoolhouse.

She followed. “How’s Bash doing with it all? Teething babies can be trying at the best of times.”

“We’re managing. Mrs. Lynde told Bash that he needs to find a wife—”

“Mrs. Lynde’s initial opinions are firm but not often right. She tends to come around though.”

Gilbert snorted softly. “Well, I know it’s been a strain for her and Marilla. I don’t know how Bash could marry—” he paused to swallow. “—so soon after Mary.”

Anne nodded. “It feels like just yesterday she was teaching me her most delectable recipes and keeping my secrets. How does Mrs. Lynde expect him to move on so quickly? It’s disrespectful.”

“I honestly don’t know if he could.”

“Are you still thinking about staying in Avonlea to help Bash?”

Gilbert swallowed. He scratched his face and then twisted his hands together. “I don’t know…”

Anne tilted her head. “But you’d go in a heartbeat if you know they’d be okay, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Anne nodded but said nothing.

Gilbert shrugged. “Bash wrote to his mother to ask her to come help out. So maybe I won’t have to make that choice.”

Goggling at him, Anne shoved his shoulder, hard. Lurching back from the force, he steadied himself and frowned at her. “Hey!”

“Gilbert Blythe!” she said. “You could’ve said. And here I’ve been feeling sorry for you!”

“Well, it’s not certain.”

Her face clouded over. “Only a cruel woman wouldn’t come to her son in his time of need.”

They were cut off by the sound of hooves on the path, along with Marilla's voice and Matthew’s grunts in reply.

“Hello, Miss Cuthbert, Mr. Cuthbert,” Gilbert said as Matthew stopped the cart in front of the steps.

“Hello, Gilbert,” Marilla said. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you.”

They lapsed into silence as they waited for the others. It felt like the seconds were stretching into minutes or that time was suspended completely—though Anne did note that the birds were still chirping, so time could not have stopped completely. Finally, she could take it no more. “They wouldn’t…not come? After all this?” she said quietly, her arms crossed around her.

“Have faith,” Gilbert said, fidgeting himself. He raised his hands up in surrender when he noticed her looking at him. “Just a suggestion. I’m not telling you what to do.”

Anne smiled in spite of herself. Just then the rumbling of Miss Stacy’s motorized bicycle announced her presence. Anne let out a sigh of relief, only to be hit on the arm by Gilbert pointing at Moody. She let out a shriek of joy as Tilly and Ruby rounded the corner.

Today would be okay after all.

* * *

The high of a plan well executed was unparalleled in Anne’s mind. Well, generally speaking, it was. Today felt different. There was the high of seeing Josie in the crowd at the town hall and having her come join them. As she wandered Miss Stacy’s small house, she saw the girl in question and waved at her. Anne was so happy Josie had come after all. That she’d forgiven Anne— _unlike some people, who will remain nameless, who didn’t show up for neither the action, nor the party,_ Anne thought bitterly.

She wondered, not for the first time, if these pendulum swings were the price a person paid for feeling deeply. One would think that one betrayal and one victory in the realm of friendship would cancel each other out. But she didn’t feel anything like neutral. She looked around at her classmates, feeling proud of them all, but as she took in the faces, the one that was missing bored a hole in her heart. She grimaced, stepping out of Miss Stacy’s bustling home, and plunked herself down on the top step. She needed a moment to herself.

Memories of the day flooded in as soon as she’d stepped out into the night. Diana’s face twisted in rage and misery, mouth tight and eyes narrowed as tears ran down her cheeks. “ _True story,”_ she said, yanking her half of their locket off her neck and throwing it to the ground. The words that had made Anne laugh as she nervously waited for everyone to arrive: Just a suggestion. I’m not telling you what to do. She’d felt the butterflies in her stomach when she took the stage in front of the most powerful men in Avonlea, but her heart had burst with pride when she saw her school chums standing on the stage with such a powerful message. The flicker of satisfaction when the flash went off, capturing the moment. Miss Stacy’s proclamation of support. Gilbert—Gilbert had ripped up the list of rules right in front of the priest’s face. Her heart felt like it was in her throat. _What an odd and uncomfortable sensation,_ she thought. Though, everything was a bit odd and uncomfortable today.

She sat, her mind reeling from the events of the day. The uncomfortable feeling persisted. Anne wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or not. _Blasted confusing feelings_ , she thought. The glow of success wasn’t just dampened by her fight with Diana, it was nothing without her. But what could she do now? They’d both said cruel things. Things they couldn’t take back.

She was shaken from her musings by the front door opening and closing. She looked up at Gilbert.

“You sure pulled that off,” he said, sitting down beside her.

“ _We_ did,” she corrected, the bitter medicine of misery mixing with butterflies in her stomach. She tried to keep her remarks light. “What in the world did you say to our class to make them change their minds about me?”

“I reminded them that you always find a way to make things right.”

She scoffed, but her voice quavered when she spoke. “Well, historical precedent would suggest otherwise.”

There was a pause as they both looked down for a moment. Anne felt her cheeks heat in a way that was similar to when she’d seen Gilbert that first time in the schoolhouse after he’d returned—the day she’d come to school with her hair shorn like a boy’s. 

“Your words were powerful,” he said finally. “I didn’t have to do much convincing.”

Seeing him looking at her so earnestly felt like being pushed off the edge of a cliff, and once the tears were falling, she couldn’t stop them. She wondered how many times she’d made a fool of herself in front of Gilbert Blythe. Too many to count, surely.

“Anne,” he said gently. “What happened before we met for the protest today?”

Anne clutched at her arms around herself and swallowed. She shook her head, not looking at him.

“Anne, what happened?”

She continued shaking her head. Through clenched teeth she said, “I can’t talk about it, Gilbert.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“Not like that.” She sniffed back tears that were leaking out her nose. “I had a fight with Diana.”

“Oh,” Gilbert said, frowning. “You and Diana argue occasionally, don’t you?”

“Not like this.”

He nodded. Then, realizing Anne wasn’t looking at him, he added, “Ah.”

“Have you ever said something so horrible you couldn’t take it back? Even if it was true?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, Anne looked up from her knees. She waited, unblinkingly, with tears smeared over her freckles.

He sighed. “The winter that we came back, the first winter Bash was in Avonlea, I snapped at him—he was asking me to help on the farm, like I’d promised, but I—I wanted to go to Queen’s that year. It wasn’t so much what I said but what I did. I drove him away. I made him feel like he didn’t have any allies in Avonlea, so he went to the Bog. I basically told him he was worthless.”

Gilbert was twisting his hands. He hadn’t admitted that to anyone. Yes, people knew that Bash had been to the Bog that winter—he’d brought Mary back, hadn’t he?—but they didn’t know why he’d gone in the first place. There was a part of Gilbert that knew there were things he just couldn’t understand about how Bash, as a Black man, experienced the world, but it filled his stomach with acid to think that he hadn’t listened to his brother when he’d spoken.

Anne sighed. “I don’t think Diana will ever forgive me. I wanted to understand…but I ended up driving her away too.”

They caught each other’s eye, smiled half-heartedly at each other, and ducked their heads, both turning to look out into the night.

Trying to lighten the mood, Anne spoke. “Speaking of unforgivable, I’m surprised you ever forgave me for hitting you over the head with my slate.” She looked over at him.

Gilbert snorted under his breath. “Yeah, well, I had just pulled your hair and called you _carrots_.”

“Only because I had ignored all your attempts at being nice to me.”

He turned his body to face hers, smirking. “Is this a competition, too?”

“Yes!” Her eyes sparkled as she grinned, marvelling that they weren’t arguing, not really—come to think of it, they hadn’t argued in some time. _Strange_ , Anne thought. _But maybe not that strange._

“After all these years, who knew we’d make such a good T-E-A-M?” Gilbert pulled her thoughts to the present with another reference to their past.

Something magnetic was pulling Anne toward him. She studied Gilbert as he looked back at her. Her heart was in her throat. His eyes were so warm and full of sincerity. She felt somehow both seen and safe.

Blonde ringlets and blue eyes flashed in Anne’s mind. _Winifred_. _The woman he was courting_ , she reminded herself. “Winifred…” Anne said aloud. She grimaced but continued, “is a lucky gal. Thank you for today—and everything. I should get back!” She stood abruptly and took a step towards the front door.

Gilbert was left on Miss Stacy’s steps, alone. Wondering what had just happened and what had just been about to happen, Gilbert’s heart raced. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts. The words _Anne_ and _Winifred_ swirled in his brain along with emotions he couldn’t make sense of. _I may need to talk to Bash_ again, he thought. He sighed and looked out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Wiggles this week, who reminded me that I could do better and pointed out places I should change. The chapter is much better for it.


	8. Song of Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back...only slightly late this week. *hides in shame* I'm going to take a bit of a Christmas break to build up a bit of writing and can post on time. I'll be seeing you again in the new year. For now, enjoy!

The train bustled with the noise of those headed to Charlottetown for routine business. Shrieks and laughter bubbled above it all. Anne sat with her bag clutched to her chest, uncharacteristically quiet. Her heart felt as though it might escape her chest it was beating so hard. She stared blankly in front of her.

Gilbert sat opposite Anne. He was looking out the window, muttering equations and facts to himself. His knee bounced uncontrollably. The motion brought Anne’s attention back to reality. She shook herself. She should be revising too. She started reviewing Pythagorean theorem, her hand sketching out triangles as she whispered the rules to herself. Not being able to use a slide rule worried her. She found mathematical application the most difficult because it was harder to visualize the underlying concepts. Anne tended to tell herself stories about the rules and the concepts to remember them.

Gilbert caught her eye and smiled thinly. She nodded and said, “Quiz me?”

“Sure. On what specifically?”

“Pythagorean theorem.”

“Okay. What is the Pythagorean equation?”

“The area of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the area of remaining sides of a triangle.” Anne grinned, knowing the answer was correct. Eyes sparkling with triumph, she leaned in.

“Ask me something harder.”

Gilbert smiled back. “Okay, the one who gets the most answers right wins?”

Anne snorted. “Good job, Gilbert. You know how exams work. How about the one who gets the fewest answers right has to do a dare chosen by the other?”

“Interesting,” Gilbert said, raising his eyebrows. “Deal.”

Anne clapped her hands together. Her grin was wide and her intentions set. She was going to win. She hadn’t decided what she’d dare him to do, but she already relished the idea of it. “Wonderful! Now ask me another question.”

“I’m not giving you an opportunity to win unfairly because you got to answer two questions in a row.”

“Fine.” Anne rolled her eyes, pausing a moment to think. “What is the most common proof used to demonstrate the Pythagorean theorem?”

“Euclid’s Bride’s Chair.” Gilbert grinned. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Scrunching up her face, Anne stuck her tongue out at him. “Spell _insouciant._ ”

“Oh, you mean how I’m feeling right now?” He shrugged and looked so calm, like he wasn’t about to take an exam that would decide his fate. “Well, I will—right after you spell _logorrhea._ ”

“Ha,” she stated drily, but Gilbert didn’t look away. “Really?” She asked, scrunching up her face. He nodded. “Honestly,” she muttered to herself. Digging into her Latin knowledge, she thought: The first part, _logo_ , was easy. Latin for _word_. “L-O-G-O-R-” She paused a moment to think about how many _R_ s there were in the Greek suffix _to flow_ , before continuing. “R-H-E-A. Now you.”

“I-N-S-O-U-C-I-A-N-T. Insouciant.”

They shared a small smile. Anne thought his smile was really quite charming. She remembered telling Diana about his chin. It was _splendid_. Then, frowning, Anne realized all over again that she and Diana still weren’t speaking. The pain stabbed through her heart just as painfully now as it did when Diana had thrown the locket on the ground. She shook her head and tried to focus on the exam. “Okay,” she said to Gilbert, more serious now than before. “We’re tied, two for two. Let’s focus on topics likely to come up in the exam.”

Gilbert’s eyes were slightly more narrowed as she spoke, but he didn’t mention her abrupt shift in tone. She assumed it was because he was nervous too. His leg was jittering again. “All right,” he said, “history next?”

“Perfect.” Anne settled into her seat.

They spent the rest of the train ride quizzing each other in hushed tones. When they finally pulled into Charlottetown, the carriage containing the teenagers was ghostly silent. Charlie was ashen. Moody’s lips moved quickly though no sound came out and every so often he stopped to inhale loudly. Nobody moved. The only sound in the carriage was the incessant tapping of Gilbert’s foot. Finally, Anne stood. Grabbing her bag and heading to the front of the carriage, she shouted in a rallying cry, “Come on! We have an exam to write!”

* * *

As the day wore on, Winifred grew bored. Her parents had asked her to stop working as a secretary for Dr. Ward. She had listened carefully, nodded, then mounted her defence. She reminded her parents of how she had been a girl prone to getting into mischief if left to her own devices. A profession was exactly what she needed in order to keep the family’s reputation from being ruined in “the most innocent of ways, I’m sure.” Her second argument was that, much like her mother’s philanthropy, this was a calling. Dr. Ward’s patients enjoyed conversing with her because she put them at ease, and they were ultimately served better for it. She was often called on by Dr. Ward to disclose information regarding a patient’s demeanour as they entered, any symptoms she could recall, and details she had gleaned about the medical situation. She was quite proud of the role she played in aiding the doctor.

Her final argument—her _piece de resistance_ —was that this experience would make her a better wife. It was not an argument she liked but the one her parents would appreciate most. She would serve her husband better for having a profession. Gilbert, she argued, would need a secretary, and who better to do the job than someone who was already trained in the position and was good at it? Her parents had looked thoughtfully at each other at that. _Ha_ , she thought. _I’ve won!_

She had not won. Her parents had considered and decided that it would not do for a married woman of her status to work regardless of how it could help her husband’s career. It would be “a scandal” as her mother had put it.

Winifred was, therefore, confined to needlework. When no one was looking, she stabbed the cloth violently. There were only so many rude words a lady could hide in flowers. She sighed and set down the embroidery hoop. There was time for a walk before afternoon tea and Gilbert’s arrival.

As Winifred pulled on her gloves, her mother appeared in the front hall. “Oh, wonderful!” she said, seeing her daughter. “I’ve just come from the seeing the . He is confident we can have the ceremony at St. Paul’s before the fall term at the Sorbonne begins.”

“Oh, that’s marvellous, Mother,” Winifred replied.

“Just think. Soon you’ll be a married woman!”

Winifred just smiled in response. Looking back down, she straightened her gloves.

“Are you going somewhere, dear?”

“Yes, actually. I’m going to take some air in the city before Gilbert arrives.”

“I hope you’ll be back long before Mr. Blythe arrives.” Her mother frowned. “You’ll need time to dress.”

“I know, Mother. Don’t fret.”

“All right. See you in a bit, darling.” Her mother smiled.

She was so easy to appease, Winifred thought. If only she could learn to be content like her mother was. Winifred crossed the courtyard and headed out into the street. Her head was swarming with thoughts as she walked.

 _Am I ready to be a_ married woman _? What professions are acceptable for a lady of my status? What skills do I possess that could do the most good? What does Gilbert expect in a wife? He seems quite modern, but propriety dictates quite a bit of distance in the courting process. I wonder—_

Her inner monologue was cut off by someone calling her name. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd, but didn’t stop entirely until she saw red hair. Anne.

“Miss Rose,” Anne said. She smiled brightly. “What a lovely surprise! How are you today?”

“Oh, hello Miss…Cuthbert, was it?”

“Shirley-Cuthbert actually, but Anne is fine.”

“Anne with an E” Winifred smiled. A year ago, Anne’s forthrightness would have made Winifred cringe, inwardly of course, with its rural coarseness. However, as she’d had the pleasure of meeting the townsfolk of Avonlea, she’d decided that it was different when you’d grown up with the same twelve people near your age and had no high society mothers to concern yourself with. Also, she witnessed Anne using this particular talent—or as her mother would say, social ineptitude—for a worthy cause.

Though Winifred had been slightly taken aback by Gilbert running after her about a cake, she’d forgiven him for the sake of family ties, and Anne had impressed her by standing up for the rights of a girl who would inevitably be slandered.

Winifred remembered herself. “Don’t you have an exam today?”

“Yes!” Anne sighed loudly, looking up at the sky. “But, gloriously, it’s finished and now all there is to do is enjoy the day and the city.” She gave a little twirl.

“Congratulations. You must be relieved.” Winifred grimaced internally. Obviously Anne was relieved. It was clear as day; she was radiant.

“Anne!” a voice called from behind Winifred.

Anne’s face lit up even more, making Winifred wonder how it was that could be physically possible. “Gilbert! How’d it go?”

Winifred turned, making sure not to knock Anne with her parasol as she did so. “Yes, Mr. Blythe. Do you think you passed?”

She wanted to laugh at Gilbert’s stricken look, but something in her stomach tightened, and she frowned instead. He quickly rearranged his face into a smile.

“Oh, hi Winnie,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. What a nice surprise.”

None of these country folk knew anything about acting, Winifred thought. She wished she could roll her eyes at how obviously uncomfortable Gilbert was. _And why is that?_ her analytical side mused.

It was Anne, naturally, who broke the silence. She skipped over to Gilbert and put her hand on his arm, looking at him intently. “It went all right, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes. I believe so.”

“You passed. I’m sure of it.” Anne was so certain, and she seemed so intent on making sure Gilbert believed it too.

“Thanks, Anne,” he said quietly. It did not escape Winifred’s attention that his hand had come to rest on Anne’s and that his gaze was just as intent as hers.

Winifred cleared her throat in an effort to dispel the growing discomfort there. It did not have the desired effect. Instead, the feeling dropped into her stomach, making it feel like a weight had taken up residence there. It did have the secondary effect of breaking Gilbert and Anne’s gaze.

Anne’s eyes widened and she quickly dropped her hand from Gilbert’s arm and took a step back, bumping into Winifred. “Sorry!”

Winifred decided that this was a moment to be gracious. That confrontation— _conversation_ she corrected herself—was a matter best kept to the privacy of one’s parlour. She pasted a smile to her face. “That’s all right, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert. I’d best be off anyway. My mother is expecting me home to dress for dinner.”

Anne looked at her, horrified. “But it’s only one in the afternoon!”

“Yes, and yet my elder sister takes twice as long.”

“How does she have time to even have lunch?”

“It’s a mystery to me as well.” Winifred turned to Gilbert. “Mr. Blythe, I’ll see you for dinner?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

With a nod, Winifred turned away from both of them and headed home much earlier than she had expected to. As she walked away, she heard Anne’s voice behind her.

“Are _you_ dressing for dinner?” Anne said, not as quiet as she perhaps meant to be.

“And where do you think I’ve hidden a spare shirt and jacket?” was Gilbert’s reply.

Winifred’s stomach churned as she hurried away, desperately trying not to hear any more.

* * *

Gilbert’s knee bounced up and down so much that the person who’d been sitting opposite him had moved across the aisle. Gilbert grimaced apologetically when the older gentleman stood up. However, he couldn’t quell the motion.

His stomach roiled. Bile threatened to spew from his throat. Gilbert felt cold. He’d expected to feel this way prior to his exams that day. He was sure he’d studied enough, but that hadn’t stopped his nerves. However, he was annoyed that the feelings hadn’t abated when he’d finished.

Well, to be more specific, they had. He felt he’d done quite well on the exams. It was what had happened after that had him feeling like he might have to see his dinner on the train carriage floor.

After the exams, he’d gone back to Winnie’s house for the dinner her parents had planned. Their house was beautiful, and the food had been delicious…for Prince Edward Island standards anyway—nothing compared to Bash’s mother’s cooking. But Gilbert had felt out of place; he had to watch to see which piece of cutlery to use. Winnie didn’t joke or laugh quite as much as she usually did either.

Then, once they’d finished eating, Mr. Rose had asked Gilbert back to his study for whiskey and cigars. A tradition Gilbert had never taken part in, only heard about. Mr. Rose had been quite clear that he was happy to sponsor Gilbert’s schooling so long as he made Mr. Rose’s daughter happy. It was at that point that Gilbert felt his heart freeze. (He couldn’t reconcile the feeling with the medical facts, but that was not something to ponder right now.) _Marriage?_ he thought. _Already?_

Anne’s cutting words rang through his mind: “…an attractive new parcel of land. I mean… _wife_.” Her face in the moonlight and her soft smile followed. Then Winnie’s grin as she stood next to Mr. Bones. Anne and Winnie together, giggling about something as Gilbert walked over. Winnie’s puzzled look when Gilbert ran after Anne at the fair. Her knowing look earlier today when Anne had so adamantly told him she was sure he’d done well. _Anne_. He needed to speak to Anne.

How had he gotten so entangled with both of them? He only had wanted to smile and laugh and enjoy Winnie’s company. She was so full of light, and underneath her propriety, she was razor sharp. She was easy to talk to. But Anne, she was all hard edges and principles. Gilbert smiled at the memory of Anne smashing her slate over his face, at the fierceness of her defence of Bash and Mary. The tender look in her eye as she watched Delly babble. He’d do anything to see her look at him with a tenth of that tenderness.

 _Damn_ , he thought. _I have to talk to her, now._ Moody had said that the rest of the class was going to the ruins after their exams. He hoped they’d still be there when he arrived. He swallowed, trying to keep his dinner down.

Gilbert was out of his seat before the train had stopped at the Avonlea station. As soon as it had, he jumped down onto the platform. The moon was bright, so Gilbert decided to walk rather than lease a horse. He still needed to decide what he was going to say to Anne. He grabbed the lantern he’d left round the side of the empty station and headed towards the ruins.

Gilbert didn’t even need the lamp to guide him to the ruins. All he had to do was follow the shrieks and giggles, and there they were, his classmates cheering around a bon fire. No, actually—they surrounded someone who was standing on an overturned boat with her hand holding her hair at her chin to create a beard. She was yelling down at them. Something about being stuck at sea? Anne. Of course, Anne would capture everyone’s attention. He’d never seen his classmates so free and giddy. He envied them.

As he approached, the group scattered. Gilbert stopped where his classmates had been standing in front of Anne. The butterflies that had invaded his stomach all froze, suspended in midair. She was spinning, dancing to some unheard music, illuminated by the fire behind her. She was beautiful. Like a goddess engulfed in flames, fuelled by the fire. His breath caught.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a little gasp when she saw him. She was a little unsteady as she halted her circles.

“May I speak with you, please?” Gilbert said. For a moment, everything was still. Then Anne took a couple tentative steps toward the edge of the boat. Seeing she wasn’t steady on her feet, Gilbert reached a hand up to help her down, and she took it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

He led her to a large log by the bon fire, far away from their peers’ festivities. They sat on the log. Almost immediately, Gilbert stood up and began pacing, unable to be still.

Anne frowned at him. “What did you want to say?” She seemed less sharp than usual and was squinting at him while he paced. 

“I went to Winnie’s for dinner,” he said in a clipped tone.

“Yes,” she said slowly, drawing out the word. “You said you would.”

“But it didn’t feel like it was just a dinner.” Gilbert’s voice was slightly frantic. “It felt like there was something unsaid happening in the room and everyone except for me understood what it was. And then her father laid it out on a silver platter—"

“Laid what out on a platter?” Anne wasn’t following. Her eyes betrayed her confusion.

 _Am I really not making sense?_ Gilbert thought. If he hadn’t had been so preoccupied and single-minded, he might have remembered Moody had said he was brining moonshine that night.

“The Sorbonne. Paris. The money to do it. My future if I want it. Permission—to propose.” He clarified then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

Anne’s face fell. She stared into the fire. She looked like she might cry. “You don’t want to be a country doctor. The Sorbonne is your dream. Winifred is lovely, and her parents are supportive.”

Gilbert had turned back towards Anne as she spoke. His eyes were on her, watching intently as she listed facts to the fire. He moved closer, sitting down on the log. She turned to face him, puzzled, and said, “I don’t understand. What’s holding you back?”

He paused, looking deep into her eyes, holding her gaze before saying, “Just one thing.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she says. And then her thoughts tumbled out half formed. “What am I supposed to—and everyone, everyone is now, and you just—and I’m—pirate!—and we never even—and Paris is, and you’re never going to find— _that_ much I know, so how… can… I— we… we.” She petered out, gasping for breath.

Gilbert’s own mind was reeling, trying to piece together what she was telling him. _Was she saying no?_ he wondered. _What did pirates have to do with anything? What couldn’t he find?_ He watched as her chest rose and fell. She clearly had a lot of feelings, though he didn’t understand any of them.

Anne looked as if she was trying to think of what to say but, after having said so many words that hadn’t made any sense, couldn’t form a coherent thought. Though Gilbert’s heart was racing and he feared the worst, he stayed seated. He would wait. He would wait for Anne to deliver his fate even if it meant allowing his heart to be broken here and now.

It was then, of course, that calls of, “Anne!” reached them. The girls rushed over, grabbing at Anne’s shoulders. “We want to do one of your rituals!” Tilly said. Gilbert watched as Anne allowed herself to be handled like a ragdoll by the others. They pushed her onto her feet and placed her in front of the fire.

Gilbert couldn’t move. His dinner was about to make an appearance. To delay if not stop such an eventuality, he clenched his teeth and continued looking straight ahead. He wanted to scream. To yell at Tilly, Josie, and Jane that now was not the time for feminist declarations. And yet, he felt that all of the energy had drained from his body. It was all he could do not to break down right there.

Then Anne turned back to him. She still looked stricken, like she no longer possessed the power of speech. But something, stupidity perhaps, made his heart flutter with hope. Gilbert stood slowly, not taking his eyes off hers. “We’ll talk tomorrow?” he asked.

She nodded, pale in the moonlight, and stiffly turned back towards the girls calling out to her. Gilbert swallowed, then forced himself to turn back the way he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...from here on out we're going into AU territory! (I know that the class didn't go to Charlottetown for the exams, but I needed Winnie and Anne to run into each other.) I've had fun weaving my own ideas through canon, but we're heading into the unknown together from here on out.  
> As always, thanks for reading💖 Much love!


	9. Now the Sun Wants to Rise as Brightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, lovelies! 
> 
> I know in terms of world politics, the year hasn't started very well. I hope this is a bit of a balm for that. Happy reading.

Soft morning light filtered into Anne’s room. The rustling and clucking of the hens wafted up through her window. Marilla’s voice cut through the bustle, with the warmth she reserved for talking to animals, or talking about Anne when she wasn’t present.

Slowly, groggily, Anne opened one eye. The light pierced right through to her brain. She shut the eye. Grabbing her pillow from underneath her head, Anne shoved it on top of her face to block the light. She didn’t need to breathe, she reasoned, when such brightness cleaved her skull in two. Of course, she was only human and thus had to breathe at some point. Tentatively, she lifted the pillow. Even with her eyes closed, her head throbbed and it was too bright.

 _Too much light_ , she thought. Then, _What time is it? Shouldn’t I be feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs?_ She threw herself from bed in one motion, so her brain wouldn’t have time to rebel. Squinting down at the yard through her window, she saw Marilla with a basket in hand. Marilla looked up, and seeing Anne, waved and called up to her.

“I thought you’d be tired from the exam yesterday, so I let you sleep.”

Anne nodded, wondering why Marilla was yelling so loudly so early. Remembering herself, she said, “Thank you.”

Now that she was out of bed, Anne decided she may as well get up. She took her time laying out her dress and stockings, removing her night dress, and then dressing. There was something odd sitting in the bottom of her stomach. It felt heavy and tight—almost as if a dragon, dangerous but currently sleeping, had taken up residence within. She was quite sure she’d passed her exam. It had been challenging but not overly tortuous.

Buttering some bread, Anne tried to remember why she was feeling so unsettled. Her thoughts formed so slowly, it seemed they had to travel through molasses to reach her. The exams had gone well. She was sure Gilbert’s exam had gone well. The class had all congregated at the ruins to celebrate. They’d had fun, hadn’t they? _Moody brought us moonshine,_ she remembered. Ah, Marilla had mentioned once that young men sometimes overindulged…she supposed it was the same for young women. _Anyway, we were pirates,_ she continued to herself, _and then—Gilbert!_

The dragon inside stirred. Something had happened. Then it all came crashing back. “ _May I speak with you, please?” “I don’t understand.” “Just one thing.”_ The dragon shook itself, and Anne threw up her breakfast onto the plate she’d been eating from.

Gilbert had as good as asked her to marry him. Or, wait. _Had he?_ He hadn’t actually said anything. She ran through the encounter in her head. No. He’d only _implied_ that he didn’t want to marry Winnie. That it was _her_ , Anne, holding him back. What had he wanted from her? She saw his eyes, so intense in the fire light, waiting, as if he’d asked a question. _But he hadn’t!_ she thought. _And how dare he assume that I should be the one to decide his fate!_

Anne stared at her plate. Her regurgitated food stared back. Sighing, she pushed herself up from the table, grabbed her plate, and scraped its contents into the slop bucket. As the dish clattered to the bottom of the wash basin, Anne decided to put last night out of her mind.

For the rest of the morning, Marilla, Anne, and Matthew worked quietly through their daily chores. There were always tasks to be done. When Anne had finished with the kitchen chores, she went outside to help Matthew muck out the stable. She huffed and sighed so much that Matthew finally asked what the matter was.

“Boys,” Anne lamented.

When she didn’t elaborate, Matthew simply said, “Hmm,” and continued with his work.

“Matthew,” Anne said, unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer. “Why does a boy get all the time he wants to think about the girl he is to marry, and the girl is meant to answer within seconds of his proposing? It’s hardly fair.”

Matthew paused, resting his pitchfork on the ground. His gaze on Anne was steady and contemplative. “Well, I suppose that by that time there’s been some courting.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Some courtships don’t end in marriage.”

“Some. But it’s less likely after a certain point.”

“Still,” Anne said, punctuating her point by violently flinging some manure. “That doesn’t change the fact that the boy has all the time in the world and the girl has about thirty seconds.”

Matthew said nothing as he watched her working away energetically. Angrily. There was truth to what she was saying; Matthew couldn’t deny it. Eventually, he said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Thank you.”

They worked in silence for some time more, Anne fuming and muttering to herself. Had she not been so all-consumed by her thoughts, she might have noticed Matthew pausing every so often, opening his mouth, closing it, and then turning back to his work. She might have realized that, while it was not an unusual outburst for her, Matthew’s frown wasn’t from the stench of the manure but from wondering what had happened to precipitate such a speech.

Anne imagined her dragon as a fearsome guardian. She felt it tower above her as she went about her chores. Try as she and Cressida (she’d named the guardian dragon, of course) might, however, they couldn’t forget the night before. Infuriatingly, more details presented themselves to her throughout the day. How she’d been spinning when Gilbert interrupted her. His eyes darting over her and then locking on hers as he helped her down off the boat. The frustration in his voice when he’d been explaining his evening. The knot in her stomach when she thought he was saying he would marry Winnie. The falling of it when she realized that wasn’t what he was saying.

 _Damn him_ , she thought, water sloshing in the bucket she was bringing to Belle. _What am I supposed to do with this?_ Nodding at Jerry, she turned toward Belle’s stall. A thought struck her and she dropped the bucket. _He said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”_ Anne stood, stock still, the bucket upturned, water fleeing from it. _What time is it?_ she wondered. Would he come to find her here? She had no idea what she’d say to him. What would she say? Did she love him? Did she want to marry him? Did she want that enough to deprive him of everything he’d ever dreamed of?

The cold feeling of the water having seeped through her boot and stocking shocked her to the present. Righting the empty bucket, she yelled for Jerry. When his head poked out the from the hayloft at the top of the ladder, she beckoned him over.

“Jerry, could you please get Belle some water. I have to go immediately.”

“What happened to that one?” Jerry asked, pointing at the puddle on the ground.

“I spilled it,” Anne said through gritted teeth. She tried to soften her tone, but was sure there was a hint of desperation in her next words. “Please, Jerry. I have to go.”

“Okay,” he said, eying her warily. “I can do it. Go.”

Anne sighed in relief, rushing over to kiss Jerry on the cheek. “Thank you. I shall repay you somehow!”

The last things Jerry saw as she left were the tips of her braids disappearing around the door of the barn.

* * *

Anne arrived at the Barrys’ out of breath. Diana noticed her out the window of her bedroom, doubled over, gasping for air. Something in Diana’s heart constricted—it felt like a pinched nerve. Was Anne coming to apologize? _Could she be?_ Diana’s heart leapt at the possibility. She moved closer to the window, trying to hide behind the lace curtain and have a view of Anne at the same time.

Anne was smoothing down her dress, looking determined. Diana couldn’t tell from Anne’s pale face and the determined set of her mouth whether or not this would be the reconciliation she hoped for. She missed Anne dearly, she truly did, but she could not be the first one break. It was always for Diana to be gracious of heart. She didn’t want to be this time. It was Anne’s turn.

Taking a deep breath, Diana decided the way to handle this was with one of her mother’s Battles of Decorum. She would be perfectly polite. However, it would be up to Anne to begin the apologies. Diana moved to the looking glass, patting down her hair and putting on a robin’s egg blue dressing robe. By the time Mary Jo had come to fetch her, Diana was presentable and ready for conversation.

Diana did not hurry down the stairs. She glided. The way her mother had taught her. As she walked into the front hall she spoke with frosty precision. “How may I help you?” she asked.

“I heard you say Aunt Jo was here,” Anne said, more subdued than usual. She didn’t blink, Diana noticed. She was altogether the picture of decorum. Not at all like Anne. “I came to speak with her.”

 _How dare she!_ Diana thought. _She’s not here to apologize at all, nor even to speak to_ me. Diana’s eyes flashed and she clenched her jaw. “ _My_ aunt is visiting me, yes.”

When Anne didn’t reply, Diana took a deep breath and looked to Mary Jo. “Will you please tell Miss Barry she has a visitor?”

A silence fell between the two girls as Mary Jo left. Diana could hear Anne’s laboured breathing. Neither girl said anything. Diana pulled her lips in, pressing them together, then nodded and turned away. She took slow deliberate steps so as not to walk too quickly. However, as soon as she was out of Anne’s sight and in her room with the door closed, she let out all the tension her body with a sob.

Why would Anne come here to talk to Aunt Jo and not her? Did their friendship mean nothing to her? Not even worth an apology for once? Diana sat with her back to the door, for once not thinking of how anyone else would react to her emotions. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. _Take that, Mother,_ she thought.

A tentative rap on the door shocked her into a hiccup. Who was there? Mother was out getting a new dress fitted for Minnie May and her father was…out somewhere as well. It could only be Mary Jo. She took a deep breath.

“Go away, Mary Jo. I’ll be quite all right in a moment,” she called through the door.

“It’s me, Cole,” a low, male voice said.

Diana’s eyes widened. Cole hadn’t come to visit with Aunt Jo. Why was he here? She stood up, yanking the door open to see Cole’s kind eyes taking her in, shiny face, puffy eyes, and all.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Cole tilted his head slightly, a silent question. “Anne stopped by briefly yesterday after her exams. I was busy then but thought I’d come see you both today. She’s out with Aunt Josephine in the garden. I wondered where you were.”

She just looked at him, trying not burst into tears again. He took her hand and led her to her bed. There they sat, and he asked, “Why aren’t you outside with Anne? Why are you crying up here?”

Diana’s face turned into a watery frown. With a wobbly voice, she said quietly, “We argued. Over secrets kept and mistreatments.”

“Oh?” Cole asked impassively.

Diana hesitated— _certain things are private_ her mother’s voice said—but this was Cole she argued with the voice. Cole who had sat, pouring over his art, as she and Anne had discussed love and stories and everything; who had allowed himself to be roped into chaperoning the girls’ trip to Charlottetown for a party that had changed their lives; who had a knack for seeing more than anyone else; who had been the gentlest with her when she wasn’t sure how to feel about Aunt Jo and Aunt Gertrude’s secret love. He was here, asking her what was wrong.

She kept her eyes on her hands, folded in her lap, as the words tumbled from her. “I-I…well, Jerry was walking me home from school, in secret, because of our stations. At first I thought I might love him, but then I knew I didn’t, but I _liked_ kissing him. I didn’t want to stop. I knew he liked me more than I him, but I didn’t want to hurt him and Paris seemed like such a logical ending point, so…I let it continue. But Anne found out and we argued. And I’m not sure we’ll ever be friends again.”

She looked back up at Cole. “We both said horrible, cruel things.”

She held her breath as she waited for him to speak, closing her eyes so as not to have to face him. She knew she had done wrong by Jerry, but she didn’t see how that could have been avoided. She opened her eyes tentatively. Cole was smiling sadly.

“You both feel so much,” he said.

“Anne feels deeply, you mean.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You both do. Do you remember Aunt Josephine’s party?”

Diana frowned at this sudden turn in conversation. “Of course, I do. Why?”

“That night, I had a moment alone with with Aunt Jo. I found her sitting alone, crying, remembering Gertrude. I asked her if she wanted to be alone, but she said—she said that Gertrude loved her tears.”

As Cole paused, Diana tried to piece together what he was telling her. _Crying is okay,_ she guessed silently. However, she was spared from voicing this, no doubt, ridiculous theory when Cole spoke again.

“She said that she was taught to keep everything ‘buttoned up inside.’ Sound familiar to you?”

Diana looked at him and sighed.

Cole took that as a yes and continued. “That night, I also met an incredible artist who told me that there is no straight path in life and that sometimes there is no path.”

“But Cole, I’m not like either of you.” Diana huffed. “I have obligations to my family.”

Cole shook his head. “Diana, I know what it’s like to hide, to try so hard to meet my family’s expectations. Just because you aren’t like me or Aunt Jo doesn’t mean that you aren’t worthy of finding and following your own path.”

“But—”

“‘Now I remember that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had the courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.’”

Diana frowned. “What does Jane Eyre have to do with anything?”

Cole took her hand again. “Diana,” he said. He was so gentle and serious, she made sure to listen to his next words. “Have courage to seek real knowledge of life. You think you have a long way to fall if you don’t meet your parents expectations, but Aunt Jo will take you in, like she did with me, in a heartbeat.”

Feeling on the verge of tears once more, Diana could barely speak above a whisper. “How can you know that?”

“Because she talks about it at dinner. She thinks you should go to Queens College and live with her.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. You know what else I realized at that party?”

“No. What?”

“Aunt Jo and Gertrude were kind of like you and Anne.” Seeing her frown, he continued hurriedly. “Not in the romantic way necessarily, but in the way that, while you both feel deeply, you deal with those feelings differently. One of you is unable to subdue any kind of emotion and one of you is unable discuss those emotions. But you know, Aunt Jo did learn share her tears with Gertrude, and I’m sure Anne would appreciate you sharing yours in the same way Gertrude loved Aunt Jo’s tears.”

Diana shook her head. _How wise Cole had become in the city!_ She looked at Cole incredulously. “How on earth did you just summarize everything so accurately?”

He shrugged. “I notice details.”

Diana leaned forward to hug Cole. Surprised by the gesture, Cole sat awkwardly in her embrace with his arms pinned to his sides. When Diana pulled away, she was smiling. “How have we survived without you here for so long?”

Smiling, he shrugged. “Poorly.”

“Too true.”

“Do you think you’ll talk to Anne soon?”

“Yes, I think I just need to sort through some things—emotions—first.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling.

She smiled back, thinking that maybe all was not lost after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'm always interested in your thoughts.
> 
> In other news, I just lost all of the next chapter >.< I thought my days of losing work because of forgetting to save was over...apparently not. However, I will still do my best to post a week from today.


	10. I Have a Gleaming Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends! I've managed to post despite my silly computer failure. This is largely due to my sister who was kind enough to listen to me meander my way through this chapter again and provided helpful insights.

Anne was pacing so much that Cole thought she would wear a new path in the Barrys’ garden. “I don’t know what to do. How do I know if I love him? There is an undeniable electricity when we are together, but is that enough to marry him? Or to ask him to give up everything he’s always wanted for a girl who doesn’t _know_ if she loves him? Why is it so easy for heroines in books to know? Even Elizabeth Bennett knew when her mind changed about Mr. Darcy. She may not have liked him at the beginning, but she understood when he rose in her esteem to such a level that she loved him.”

Cole frowned, glancing at Aunt Jo who was sitting beside him on the bench, impassive. “Are you saying that Gilbert hasn’t risen in your esteem over all this time?”

“Of course he has! We have grown from petty school rivals to friendly opponents to…friends. But it is not the same as Mr. Darcy secretly saving Elizabeth’s sister or Jane Eyre being proposed to and knowing in her heart of hearts that she _must_ be with her beloved.”

Cole frowned. “Don’t you think it is for him?”

“What?”

“Anne, I don’t think you’re Jane Eyre in this scenario. _Listen_ , Jane Eyre has forsaken her love for Mr. Rochester for whatever reason—don’t look at me like that. It isn’t relevant—and it’s only when she gets another proposal that she realizes she cannot be apart from her true love.” He paused to give Anne the opportunity to continue the narrative from that point. When she only looked at him blankly, he continued. “Gilbert has had a crush on you for years, but you were going on about being the Bride of Adventure, so when he met Miss Rose, he started courting her. You said it was only when her father talked about marriage that _he_ realized he couldn’t be away from you.”

When Anne paused her pacing to take a breath, Cole caught her eye from the bench where he and Miss Josephine were sitting and smirked. “Well, can I at least say, ‘I told you so?’”

“What?” Anne stopped short, nearly tripping over herself.

“I told you the day we went to Charlottetown to save Miss Stacy—the day I decided to stay with Aunt Jo—and you didn’t believe me.”

Eye blazing, Anne glared at him. “So does that mean I should know how _I_ feel about him at this very moment?”

“No, I—”

“Ahem.” Aunt Josephine cleared her throat. “I’ve never believed this idea that love is an all-encompassing force that a person recognizes right away. It can be, but sometimes it’s a deeper thing, like the pull of a tide. You don’t realize it until you’ve sat in contemplation.”

“But I don’t have _time_ to figure it out!” Anne practically shouted.

“Then perhaps this isn’t the right time for you and Gilbert,” Aunt Josephine said.

Sighing, Anne sat down in the grass in front of Aunt Jo and Cole. She leaned forward, putting her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I wish I could talk to Diana.”

The thought made lump rise in her throat. She blinked hard. She couldn’t deal with the tattered state of her friendship with Diana on top of the Gilbert Dilemma.

“I don’t think it’s Diana you need to talk to,” Cole said, moving to sit beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you have to tell Gilbert how you’re feeling.”

Looking up from her hands, Anne said, “I don’t know how I’m feeling. That’s the problem!"

“So tell him that. Tell him you need time—”

“Haven’t you been listening? I don’t want to derail his life!”

Cole sighed. He put his arm around Anne. “All you can do is tell him that you don’t know how you feel, that you’d like more time to think but realize he can’t put his life on hold. After that, it’s up to him.”

This did not appear to comfort Anne. She closed her eyes tight before leaning into Cole’s shoulder. “That will not be as easy as you make it sound.”

“It never is.”

* * *

Gilbert wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He knew there were chores to be done, but he couldn’t focus enough to identify one. He’d fed Delly, the one person he could safely confide in without fear that she’d judge him, until Mrs. Lacroix came by and shooed him away.

She confused him, Mrs. Lacroix. There was something odd in the way she treated him, and it brought out a sour side of Bash. But that wasn’t what he needed to think about now. Or was it? Should he dwell on what was to come or distract himself from it? It was difficult to choose.

Anne held his future entirely in her hands. She had the power to change his life. He saw her face glowing in the fire light, completely unburdened. His mind then conjured her confusion and consternation when she had been piecing together what he’d been telling her. His heart sunk then. Had she really been so surprised?

He’d loved her for so long. How could she not know? Had she been feigning surprise to shield his feelings? Had she really been disgusted instead? What if he lost Anne as a friend? He had so few true friends. It would be devastating, but it was too late now. He’d laid it all out. 

“Blythe!” Bash’s voice interrupted his thoughts from the next room. “Can I get your help for a second.”

Gilbert continued to stare at the kitchen table for a moment, and Bash called him again before he responded. “Just a second!”

“What’s with you today, Blythe?” Bash asked as Gilbert entered the study, looking lost. “Did your exams not go well?”

Shaking his head, Gilbert tried to focus. “No, the exams went fine.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Last night, I asked Anne if she thought there was a chance for us.”

“Wait, I have to get up for this,” Bash said, pushing his chair back and dancing around the room. “Basically, what you’re saying is that I win. I knew it! I knew it! It was always Anne. From the moment you got her letter on the ship. I called it. You love her. I win!”

Gilbert watched Bash as his stomach roiled. He smiled thinly. “Yeah, you do.”

The tone of Gilbert’s voice was, in contrast to Bash’s elation, grim and made Bash look at Gilbert critically. “But?”

“I don’t know where I stand with her. She was pulled away before we could really talk about it.”

“Ah,” Bash said. He slowed his movements to a stop. “I suppose you’ll have to—

“Should I propose?” Gilbert said overtop of Bash.

Bash frowned. “Seeing as you haven’t so much as had a courtship, I don’t think that’s your wisest decision.”

Sighing, Gilbert ran his hand through his hair. “Seeing as I haven’t made many wise decisions in the past twenty-four hours, what would you suggest?”

“That you talk to her.”

Silence met Bash’s words. Gilbert knew he was right, but he wasn’t sure how he could go to Anne a second time only for her to decide his fate. Especially if he wasn’t offering anything tangible in return.

“Don’t shy away from the truth of how you feel.” Bash was looking seriously at Gilbert, who swallowed and nodded.

“Can you handle the afternoon chores today, Bash?”

Bash nodded his agreement. Gilbert nodded once in return before leaving the office.

* * *

Gilbert was waiting at the gate to Green Gables when Anne approached late in the afternoon. _How long has he been waiting there?_ she wondered, trying to keep her pace steady despite not being sure if she should run the opposite way or stop altogether. Her pace ended up slowing jerkily as an incoherent compromise.

Taking a deep breath, Anne sneaked a glance at Gilbert. He was looking at her steadily. The only clue to how he might be feeling was the way his hands were twisting his cap. Anne was reminded of how strong and steady his hand had been in hers last night as he’d helped her down from the overturned boat. Her heart leapt in her chest. _Is this love or just nerves?_ she thought.

Her footsteps grew even slower as she neared him. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath then looked up at him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Shall we take a walk?” His voice was quieter than usual, and Anne almost had to lean in to hear him.

“Sure.” She smiled tightly as she noticed the path he was guiding her down: Lovers Lane.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Anne worrying her lip. There were butterflies in her stomach travelling to her throat. _No_ , she thought, _not butterflies, bees. Angry bees._ She couldn’t think. They were clouding her brain. Finally, Gilbert spoke.

“So…what do you say, Anne?”

And the dam burst. The bees were free. “What do I say? Gilbert, there’s nothing for me _to_ say! You appear when I’ve had moonshine, asking me t-to… I don’t even know what in ten seconds?”

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed slightly and his body stiffened ever so slightly. It was Gilbert’s tell, Anne knew. He was surprised—no, shocked—at her outburst. She watched as his eyes changed slowly, widening once more. “Did I really not make myself clear?”

“Gilbert, I’m not sure I remember correctly, but it sounded like you were asking me if you should give up the life you want for me without even _saying_ it. Is that what you’re asking me? Are you asking me to tell you to give up a wonderful woman, her money, the opportunity for you to be educated at the top medical school in Europe?”

“No.” It was a quiet plea that wrenched Anne’s heart. “I’m asking if you love me.”

Incredulity was written over Anne’s face, from her wild, disbelieving eyes to her clenched fists. “I don’t _know_. That’s the truth of it. How can you ask me that after months of courting Winifred?”

“Are you saying you haven’t felt the connection that I’ve felt?”

“No, I’m saying that I need time to sort through my emotions, and you are clearly headed down a path that you want me to stop. That isn’t fair, Gilbert! I don’t want to deprive you of the life you want for nothing and I don’t want you to resent me if I can’t love you the way you want me to.” Anne had stopped walking and was standing in the deserted forest path. Her arms had found their way around herself and her voice was hoarse. “I _like_ you better than anyone in the world, Gilbert, but I can’t give you an answer now.”

He looked as helpless as she felt, though his emotion was all in his eyes. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t. He’d asked too much of her and she couldn’t do this, not now. She sniffed, realizing as she blinked that she was crying. “You should choose the life you want, Gilbert. You should be happy. If you want to marry Winnie and move to France, you should. You’ll be a wonderful doctor.”

“Is that what you want?”

She shook her head. “Yes…No…I don’t know what I want, Gilbert. Just be happy.”

He flinched at that. “How can you say that? As if you don’t factor into the equation?”

Her heart plummeted into the swarm of bees that was her stomach. I _am part of what makes Gilbert happy?_ She wasn’t sure if this new information changed the equation or not, so she just shrugged through a sob. “All I know is that I am lost in a vast sea of emotion and that you, Gilbert Blythe, should be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry to have done this to you, but this is how it had to be.


	11. Now I See Well, Why with Such Dark Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wakes up after short nap, stretches, blinks* Shit! Are we really halfway through February? Well, that's upsetting. Sorry for being MIA! (My therapist called me out on only doing things when conditions are perfect, and guess what, she's right. To not waiting for perfect conditions anymore!)
> 
> (Update: A couple lines were bothering me, so I updated the chapter on Feb. 18, 2021.)

The sitting room had always been Winnie’s favourite room for its dramatic shadows. It was generally quite a dull room. However, one could find such theatre in the lighting if you only knew where to look. It wasn’t possible to change the room, but it was possible to change the way one saw it by bending the light in it. Now, she sat tall and still—statuesque one might say—blocking the light from the massive window in front of the sofa. Anyone who peered in through the doorway would see a rigid silhouette. Just the way Winnie had arranged it.

Though her body was still, Winnie’s mind certainly was not. She was thinking back to the night Gilbert had come round for dinner after his exams. Her breath caught as she remembered the evening, though not for the improper reasons she would have preferred.

The dinner had been pleasant enough. Her parents had been not-quite-subtle in the way they discussed Gilbert’s future. Gilbert himself had not been as energetic as usual. He’d eaten in a mechanical way and said little. Winnie hadn’t wanted to think much of it then as he’d just finished his exams, but she was not above admitting—to herself only—that her encounter with Miss Shirley-Cuthbert had unnerved her.

There had been such unbridled care in Miss Shirley— _such an unwieldy name,_ Winnie interrupted her train of thought. She may as well use the girl’s Christian name. There had been such emotion in Anne’s voice when she’d inquired after how Gilbert had fared. One side of Winnie’s mouth turned up in a grimace as she simultaneously recalled Anne’s uncouth ways and imagined what it might be like to act solely from a place of emotion. Surely, it was impossible. Or if not impossible, unthinkable for Winifred to do such a thing.

Winnie closed her eyes, shutting out both the austere sitting room and the pervasive thoughts of Anne. She, instead, visualized what her life in Paris with Gilbert might look like. There was the flat in Montmartre with its high ceilings and airy rooms. In the study, she saw Gilbert poring over books, absorbing all their information. She saw herself come into the room, wearing a fashionable dress designed by Paul Poiret. She walked over to Gilbert and placed her hands on his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. He looked up at her, pecking her on the lips and telling her he needed to study. _I’ll see you at dinner, Chérie,_ her imagined Gilbert said.

The image grew hazy and began morphing into something less welcome. In its place, Winnie saw a rustic kitchen—or what she thought a kitchen might look like—with a fireplace at one end and a roughly hewn table in the middle. There was a red-headed woman in a green dress standing at the table, chopping something. _Anne_ , Winnie thought. She watched as the door to the kitchen opened and in walked Gilbert. This Gilbert was different…tired. He dropped a black medical bag on the bench next to the entryway and made to step farther into the room. _Gilbert Blythe_ , Anne said sharply, pointing her knife at him. _Don’t you dare set one foot in this kitchen before taking off those boots._ But she was smiling as he came over to her anyway. Gilbert’s eyes twinkled and his lips twisted into a smirk. Then he was reaching for her and they were laughing—

Winnie opened her eyes. Slowly, she placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart racing. Winifred did not consider herself a person who wallowed in her own misery, so why was she entertaining this train of thought? Focusing on her breathing, she examined the possibilities.

One, she was curious as to how a small-town marriage was in comparison to a society match. _Possible_ , Winnie decided. However, it wasn’t something she’d been interested in before. Two, she worried she couldn’t offer as spontaneous or whimsical a life as Anne could. _Absolutely daft_ , she thought. _I am as impish and lively as anyone._ Three, she was envious of the familiar and genuine nature of Anne and Gilbert’s friendship. _Unfortunately, correct_. She sighed.

In one elegant motion, Winnie stood. This would require further contemplation, and she thought best when she was in motion. She decided the categories of thought that required further exploration as she pulled on her gloves and straightened her hat: how she felt about Gilbert, how Gilbert felt about her, how Gilbert felt about Anne, and, finally, how that last one affected her. She grabbed a parasol on her way out as an afterthought.

She made her way to Confederation Landing as if with blinders on. She noticed nothing but the pleasant ache in her legs as she reached the park. Once she’d found a bench facing the water, Winnie continued forming her mental list. She could see it as clearly as if she were typing it.

Topic one: how she felt about Gilbert.

She enjoyed his company. He was smart and driven. He had ideals and cared enough to see them through. He wasn’t preoccupied with the intricate games of society, which was so refreshing. He was kind. She liked him. She could see spending her life with him, being happy.

Topic two : how Gilbert felt about her.

Now that she thought about it, it was rather unclear. During those first encounters at the tea shop and in Dr. Ward’s office, he’d certainly been bewitched. She knew how young men looked at her. They’d quickly become friends. Gilbert was interested in her, the real her, and her dreams. Her heart sank with a realization. She’d thought he’d loved her…until she’d met Anne, which brought her to topic three.

Topic three: how Gilbert felt about Anne.

Observing the way Anne and Gilbert interacted, especially after their exams, had illustrated how surface-level Winifred’s relationship with Gilbert was. She knew that Gilbert’s father had died, that he’d inherited the family farm too young, that Gilbert dreamed of being a doctor and felt he’d failed Bash when Mary died, but Anne had experienced it all with Gilbert. There was no competing with a girl who saw Gilbert’s soul and could cut to the heart of any matter without thinking the situation through ten different ways.

Winnie blinked and her vision blurred a little. She raised a hand daintily to her eye and dabbed at the tear. Glancing around and seeing only a young girl nearby, she inhaled shakily. She held the breath a moment, then let it out in a noisy whoosh as Nounou Marie had taught her. _Et encore une fois_ , she heard her nanny’s voice instruct. She obeyed as if she were still that cross, indignant child who sought to be heard and found comfort in Nounou Marie’s arms.

After a moment, Winnie moved her lips to form an imitation of a smile. She did feel calmer. Not better. She was _gutted_ , as went her favourite colloquialism. She’d been nearly as sure as her parents that she and Gilbert would marry within the year. It was a blow. Not just to her reputation but to her family’s as well. She inhaled once more. Of course, she reasoned, she couldn’t be sure that Gilbert would not propose. However, she had to prepare for the serious possibility that he wouldn’t.

She’d been prepared for the inevitable rumours about how she’d married below her station. She would prepare for the ones about how she was a harlot. She swallowed back a sob. She couldn’t restrain the tears now, but she refused to sob on a public bench. Nodding to herself and setting her jaw, Winnie decided that she would go to Paris with or without Gilbert Blythe. In Paris, she could be free. The rumours might follow her there, but she knew she could secure a rich Frenchman regardless. 

She let out a small huff of wry laughter. She’d thought she had avoided a society marriage in favour of a love match. What a fool she’d been.

* * *

The next few days were difficult for Anne. Gilbert’s heartbroken eyes flashed in her mind, unbidden, all to often for her liking. She really did want him to be happy. He could be happy with Winnie. In Paris. As a doctor. As he should be.

But he’d said that she, Anne, factored into his happiness. What was she supposed to make of that? How did she, a school chum, factor into it? _You’re more than school chums._ The thought came unbidden, as if someone unseen had whispered. _They were right_ , she thought. She and Gilbert had been through many trials together outside of their scholarly endeavours: his father’s death, Bash’s rocky beginning in Avonlea, Mary’s death, the demonstration at the town hall, caring for Delly. It was Anne’s experience that pain either pitted people against each other or bonded them together. Still, how did one know if it was friendship or romantic love?

Lord, did she want to talk to Diana. She squeezed her eyes shut. _Dear Lord_ , she thought, _I do apologize for taking your name in vain like that. However, I would truly appreciate if you would put in a good word with her for me. Sincerely, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert._ She nodded once to herself and headed into the kitchen.

Marilla took notice of Anne’s uncharacteristic quietness one evening at the dinner table. “You haven’t said more than five words put together, Anne. Are you well?”

“My body is in perfect health, Marilla,” Anne said to her soup. “My spirit, however, is suffering.”

Matthew and Marilla exchanged worried glances. After a few moments where all that could be heard was the clink of cutlery and the slurping of soup, Mathew spoke. “This, uh, doesn’t have to do with what you talked about in the barn the other day does it?”

Moving her soup about, Anne made a non-committal noise.

“Because,” Matthew continued haltingly, “I reckon, if a boy is treating you poorly, Anne, and then asking you to marry him all quickly-like, you shouldn’t do it. It’s not worth it.”

Anne’s head whipped up at the comment, and she spilled a spoonful of soup in her haste. “No, Matthew. Nothing like that—nothing untoward—has happened…” After seeing Matthew bob his head in understanding, Anne went back to her soup.

Marilla frowned at Matthew, but he just shrugged in response. Taking it upon herself to take a turn, Marilla said, “Why don’t you go to see Gilbert? Since Mrs. Lacroix arrived, we’ve hardly seen him or Bash, and little Delly always makes you smile.”

There was a cry that sounded like an angry cat, and Anne burst into tears. Matthew’s eyes widened as he and Marilla exchanged another glance. A silent conversation about who was to try to comfort Anne next followed.

Matthew was glancing from Anne to Marilla, unsure if he should pry further into what Anne had asked about in the barn. He evidently waited too long, as Marilla broke in with the gentle voice she used when Anne was sick.

Reaching across the table to take Anne’s hand, Marilla said over the sobs, “Maybe you could go see Diana. I know you two had a falling out, but I’m sure it’s nothing an apology can’t solve.”

Anne let out the yowling-cat sound again and Marilla’s hand tightened on hers. With the other hand, Marilla lifted Anne’s chin so she had to look at her. “Will you please tell us what has happened, Anne? We could send for the doctor for a tonic. Or perhaps Bash still has some of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. I know it’s for teething babies, but it’s calming all the same.”

Grimacing through her tears, Anne swallowed, took a breath, and said, “Thank you, Marilla. I am so grateful to have you and Matthew as my family, but I really don’t want any soothing syrup.” She paused to try to stifle another sob. When she could speak again, she continued, “I’m just heartbroken and confused about my friend.”

As Anne blinked her tears away as silently as she could, Marilla stood and bent to wrap Anne, still sitting, in a hug. “These years are the hardest,” Marilla said, so quietly Anne almost missed it.

* * *

Later that evening, Anne sat in her room, arms pulled around her knees, hair wild down her back. A slight breeze rustled the papers on her bed beside her. She’d retired early. The sobs wouldn’t stop and had been so violent she couldn’t speak. Though she’d tried to tell Mathew and Marilla the gist of her sorrow, they had looked so bewildered and concerned that she’d let Matthew help her to bed and accepted Marilla’s hot cup of tea and the gentle stroking of her rough hand on her arm. Marilla had only left when Anne’s breathing had become steady once more.

Now, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. Marilla was right. She should go to see Diana. Nothing in the world was right without her. Anne felt as though a limb was missing when Diana wasn’t present. There were so many times she’d wanted to talk to her bosom friend, and each time, a dagger plunged into her heart as she remembered they were no longer speaking.

The papers beside her were a letter to Diana. One she wouldn’t send. It had helped Anne sort through her thoughts though. She would go to the Barry house tomorrow to ask to see Diana. It was such a terrifying prospect: daring to hope that one’s once-bosom friend would forgive one.

* * *

Diana felt empty inside. She often felt hollow when performing tasks her mother expected of her, but now she felt that way all the time, even playing the piano. As she carefully picked out the melody to Pachelbel’s Canon in D, she wondered how to talk to Anne. Cole had shed some light on the situation, but it hadn’t solved Diana’s primary problem. Anne expected her to apologize first. She was so stubborn. Well, Diana could be stubborn too.

Her mind whirred as her fingers gracefully drifted over the keys, and Diana sighed. Though it might not be her preferred way to make up, Diana could go to Anne. She’d just have to be clear about what she wanted from the friendship going forward. _But is going to_ her _ceding the power?_ Diana wondered.

“Miss?” came a voice, stirring her from her thoughts.

Glancing up, she saw Mary Jo. “Yes?”

“Miss Anne’s here to see you, miss.”

Focusing her gaze behind Mary Jo, Diana saw Anne standing in the doorway to the sitting room. She kept playing but she missed a note. She tried not let it phase her— _keep your head high_ , she told herself—and continued to play. Diana glanced at Anne. “How may I help you?”

“Diana,” Anne said quietly.

There was something so meek in her voice that it made Diana look up, giving Anne ninety per cent of her attention. Anne looked…ill. That was the only way to put it. Her face was even paler than usual, her hair unkempt in its braids, her eyes somehow both sunken and red. Diana stopped playing mid motif.

“Diana, I’m sorry.” Anne was crying now, and Diana wanted to go to her, to pull Anne into her arms, but she didn’t. She stood her ground—so to speak.

“I was unkind to you, and I didn’t listen. I thought I knew about love, but I don’t. I know nothing. About anything.” Anne was starting down at her hands, occasionally brushing a tear from her cheek. “Please accept my apology, Diana. I know I’m quick to judge and it’s my worst fault—aside from my hair—but I promise to do better.”

Diana felt tears on her own cheeks, and when Anne looked up at her, Diana could hardly see her through the water in her eyes. She stood, and half-running to Anne, embraced her. “I’m sorry too. For all the horrid things I said.”

Neither of them knew how long they stood like that, tears soaking each other’s dress. Eventually, Diana lifted her head and said, “I am sorry for what I said, Anne, but…I’m more than just an accessory. I’m my own person, and sometimes I need you to be _my_ accessory.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll try my best to remember that I am your accessory from now on,” Anne said, her voice muffled by Diana’s dress. “But dearest Diana, I know myself too well. We should have a code word for when I get caught up in my own entanglements. You can just say the word or work it into a sentence, and I’ll snap to attention and be your most discreet necklace.”

What Diana meant to be a laugh came out as a little hiccup mixed with a sob. She clung tighter to Anne. She’d missed this, being seen and being heard by someone who loved her so well. She knew that there were people far less fortunate that her in the world, but the loneliness and greyness of the world without Anne to ground her ideals was too much for Diana to bear.

When Diana slowly disentangled herself from Anne, she saw Anne was looking at her solemnly. “What about _rumbumptious_?” she asked Diana.

“Rumbumptious?” Diana repeated, slowly getting the feel for the word in her mouth. She looked at Anne dubiously. “That sounds like something Aunt Josephine would say when she makes fun of young people.”

Anne’s eyes sparkled and her mouth widened into a grin. “Exactly.”

Snorting, Diana said, “All right. Rumbumptious it is.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you agree, Diana. I’ve had _such_ a week. I need your wise counsel because I have no idea what to do!”

Diana froze mid-giggle at Anne’s lamentation. Her eyebrows drew together, and Anne, for her part, stopped talking as she saw Diana’s expression. For a moment, they just looked at each other. The laughter that had so recently illuminated their faces slid off, leaving each girl’s face unmasked and vulnerable.

Finally, Diana spoke. She took a breath and pulled one side of her mouth up in a small half-smile. “Rumbumtious,” she said, hesitantly.

There was a horrid moment of silence, then Anne burst out laughing in the most unladylike fashion. Diana allowed herself to giggle a little as well. When Anne had collected herself, she said seriously but warmly, “You’re quite right, Darling Diana. We must unravel your troubles first.”

* * *

Gilbert stared listlessly out the window as he ate his breakfast, a gluey porridge he’d made himself, trying not to look at anything in particular inside. When he had the misfortune to glance around the kitchen, he was haunted by memories of all the different versions his life had taken in the past three years. He’d been a schoolboy, a caretaker, an orphan, an adventurer, a friend, a farmer, an apprentice, and he’d never felt like any of those descriptors suited him. He’d thought he knew where his life was going, but now he wasn’t so sure. Sighing, he rinsed his bowl by the water basin and picked up his school bag. He needed to get out— anything so as not to be stagnating in his own misery. 

Walking, moving in general, grounded Gilbert. There was something about it that allowed his thoughts to come more freely.  Twigs crunched underfoot as Gilbert walked the familiar forest trail. There was something about the way the dappled light fell on the trees that reminded him of the dancing light of the bonfire the other night.  The light that had illuminated Anne from behind, making her appear engulfed by the flames . She’d been so beautiful. Wild and free. Such a contrast to when they’d spoken a day later.  That night he’d felt her hand warm in his as he’d guided her down to sit by the fire. Her grip had been firm and he’d been so sure. Her reaction, however, had been uncertainty and then pain. 

It physically hurt, remembering how her usually pale face had been an angry red and her eyes had been wet. He didn’t want to cause her pain, but he’d had to be honest with her. And she’d be genuinely surprised and angry. That had confused him at first, but he knew he’d made a faux pas when he felt the sinking of his heart as she talked. It was one of those horrifying moments when you realize how someone else has perceived you is unflatteringly true. You were just too caught up in your own life, your own desires, to see it.

He hadn’t been fair to Anne. He hadn’t been fair to Winnie. Reflecting on it, he realized he hadn’t even been fair to himself. No one won. Gilbert knew, of course, that life was not so simple that everyone could be happy, even if each person acted with the best of intentions. It had been proven to him time and time again throughout his friendship with Bash. Each time the world taught him that lesson, he thought he learned, but it seemed he never did. It was just as devastating every time.

Maybe that’s what drew him to Anne. She was an idealist too. In a way that Winnie most definitely was not. Winnie wasn’t without ideals, but she would always play within the rules, bending them here or there, while Anne would rewrite them altogether. Magnificent Anne.

It was all well and good that he loved Anne. That wasn’t particularly news to him.  Just as he found himself where they first met, he seemed to know it'd always come back to her. He remembered her terrified face as Billy Andrews advanced on her that day. How she’d spoken to him through gritted teeth because she “wasn’t supposed to to talk” to him. He snorted, remembering how she’d finally broken the not-speaking-to-him thing by smashing her slate over his head.  No, what was news was that he felt strongly enough to tell her and to marry her instead of Winnie. 

And Anne, she wanted him to be happy, but she didn’t know how she felt and she didn’t want to bear the weight of someone else’s future on a whim. Gilbert had been wading through discomfort for what felt like weeks at this point. He wasn’t above admitting he was wrong to force Anne to choose his life for him. However, he would have liked to know where he stood with her before deciding.

The sounds of horses neighing and people chattering reached him before he saw what passed for the Main Street of Avonlea. Gilbert nodded his hellos, and bought his supplies, before allowing himself to sink back into thought. It was important to be present when talking to others. Even on days where he didn’t particularly want to interact with anyone, he took comfort in knowing Mrs. Lynde’s son had found a wife in Charlottetown. It was only as he returned to the forest path that he returned to his train of thought.

What did he want his life to look like? He thought of Anne’s words, “You, Gilbert Blythe, should be happy.” What was happy? He glanced around the trees for inspiration, but it wasn’t so much the landscape that inspired him but the interweaving calls of the birds. It was laughing with Anne over some petty quarrel of their youth. Happy was standing at her side when she had fire in her eyes and nails in her voice as she defended someone from injustice. It was sitting with her in silence.

 _No, Blythe_ , he reprimanded himself. _What does the rest of your life look like?_ He had to think a bit longer. Happy looked like helping people in small towns like Avonlea. It was providing medical care to those who didn’t have enough to pay big-city doctors. It was serving communities like the Bog, where the people had the temerity to be born a darker shade than the European settlers of P.E.I. As much as research could have wider implications for the world, it was the people Gilbert wanted to see and help on a daily basis, not the lab.

In that same vein, he wanted to know his neighbours the way he knew them now. He wanted to be able to walk into Green Gables when the door was ajar or to walk over to the town hall when there was an important meeting. Happiness to Gilbert Blythe was not society parties or carriage rides or even studying at the Sorbonne.

The weight of this knowledge felt similar to how he imagined that of the Garden of Eden. It was enlightening and important, but it came a cost. The cost for him was the shattered idea of a happy life with Winnie and the knowledge that he had to go speak with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm always curious to know your thoughts. Much love.


	12. I Am Lost to the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back before the month is out! (Barely.) Hello, again!

Standing in the empty foyer of the Roses’ grand townhouse, Gilbert heard only the sounds of the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner and his own heartbeat. He swallowed. This was not going to be pleasant. He tried to think of the impending conversation the way he’d break bad news to a patient. He would be kind but clear and allow her to react however suited her best.

He swallowed again, this time to make sure his lunch stayed firmly in his stomach. Who was he kidding? He’d yet to deliver bad news well. He cringed, thinking of when he’d had to tell Mary she was dying. Gilbert mentally shook himself. He’d never seen Winnie angry before, but he was sure she’d have some sharp words for him—especially considering her father had thought they were ready to get married. Had Winnie thought that too? He realized in that moment how little he knew her.

A tall older man in a black suit with white gloves, whose name Gilbert had never quite gotten, cleared his throat discreetly. Gilbert looked up and hastened to follow the man down the hall. He tried to breathe deeply through his nose while keeping his mouth firmly shut. The man opened the door to one of the Roses’ many sitting rooms, announced “Mr. Gilbert Blythe,” and promptly disappeared.

Winnie was sitting on the long settee in front of the tall window that allowed light to flood in. At least, Gilbert assumed it was Winnie. He was only sure once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the room. When they had, Gilbert noticed a young woman in an apron and cap sitting on the far wall.

“That’s Clara,” Winnie said, inclining her head towards the woman. “This is the closest we’ll be getting to privacy.”

“Oh, uhh, I see.” Gilbert fumbled.

“First, she’s perfectly trustworthy.” Winnie made a flurry of gestures with her hands, and Clara smiled and moved her closed fist in a nodding gesture. “Second, she’s Deaf.”

Smiling as warmly as he could given his stomach’s current state, he nodded at Clara. She smiled back at him demurely and lowered her eyes. A small cough brought Gilbert’s focus back to Winnie. He remained standing with his hat in his hands. He drew in a breath. And then another. Winnie raised an eyebrow.

“Good morning, Mr. Blythe,” she prompted him.

“Good morning, Miss Rose.”

“What brings you here, today?”

Gilbert took one last deep breath. “I came to speak to you because I fear I have unintentionally misled you. Your father seemed to be under the assumption the other day that I was waiting for his permission to ask for your hand in marriage.”

When Gilbert risked a glance at Winnie, her face was blank. She tilted her head slightly. “And were you not? Pray tell, what were you doing if not courting me seriously?”

“I…” Gilbert struggled to find words. “I enjoy your company and value you as a friend, Winnie—truly, I do—you’re intelligent and funny. That’s why I wanted to take you to tea and to the county fair. But I was foolish and ignorant. I didn’t realize how serious it had become until your father mentioned marriage, and I realized that friendship isn’t enough to marry on.”

Winnie’s face was no longer passive. Her eyes glistened and her mouth trembled. “Isn’t it?” she asked.

It felt like Winnie had reached into Gilbert’s chest, taken hold of his heart, and was wringing it like a washcloth. He shook his head. “No,” he said gently. “Not when you know true love. Not when our lives and our dreams don’t fit together.”

Her face was contorted now, as though she were taking great pains to keep it in one piece. No tears slid down her cheeks. He admired her ability to control her body’s involuntary reactions. Her voice was strong when she spoke, with only the slightest hint of a wobble. “You know true love?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Will you marry her?”

“I don’t think so.” As Winnie’s eyes widened, he ducked his head. His next words were almost mumbled. “She doesn’t love me the way I do her.”

For a moment, all was silent. Then, Winnie’s voice rose an octave and broke. “Unrequited?” She gazed upwards as if willing her eyes to stay open, to not blink, to not allow the tears to fall, but it was too late. “You won’t even settle for friendship. For me.”

Gilbert stepped forward, reaching out to put his hand on Winnie’s. She pulled away before he had even touched her. Gilbert stood helplessly in front of her. What could he do to comfort her? He was the one who had harmed her. He tried to reassure her. “It’s not about _settling_ , Winnie. We want—expect—different things from our lives. I don’t want you to resent that I can’t give you the comforts you deserve, and I don’t want to resent having to be a part of a rank that doesn’t want me nor I it.”

By the time he’d finished his speech, Winnie’s face was remarkably composed. She nodded. “That is logical,” she said. “I understand.”

“I’m so sorry, Winnie. I had no intention of leading you on.”

“And yet you did.” Her voice was quiet but steady. She looked at him straight on, with eyes that pierced him to the core. “Gilbert Blythe, no matter your intentions, you have done me a disservice. You have broken my heart and tarnished my reputation.”

“I—” he began, but she cut him off.

“It is your turn to do me a favour. I am leaving for Paris soon. I had my suspicions that you may not propose after all—of course, it’s terribly dull to be proven correct. Regardless, I made arrangements in case, and now you will keep your own counsel until I have arrived. I am incapable of outrunning rumour, but I am able to delay it. You owe me that.”

“Of course.”

She nodded once and signalled to Clara. Both women stood. Gilbert knew a dismissal when he saw one. He ducked his head. “I appreciate your patience with my ignorance and foolishness. I am truly s—”

“Good bye, Mr. Blythe,” Winnie said, coolly cutting him off once more.

“Good bye, Miss Rose.” And with that he was gone, never to see Miss Rose again.

* * *

“Darling Diana,” Anne crooned, “isn’t it wondrous to be reunited?”

Diana, lying in the tall grass near the site where the schoolhouse had been, smiled up towards the sky. “Yes, Anne, it is.”

Anne was holding a small bouquet of wildflowers she’d collected along the path. Diana thought she looked like a young corpse, with her pale face and the flowers clutched at her chest—likely Anne’s intention.

“What do you think it means that kissing can be pleasurable even when one is not in love?” Anne said to the sky. “What is the point of kissing or of love? And how do you know which one is which?”

Humming as she thought, Diana idly pulled at the grass next to her before propping herself up on an elbow. “Well, my heart beats faster every time Jerry comes near me, or I see him, or I think of him. My face feels flushed and my whole body tingles.” She paused a moment. “But I don’t feel connected to him. For example, he had the most common ideas about _Frankenstein._ ”

“Diana!” Anne said, sitting up. “Common? That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” Diana rolled her eyes and continued. “His favourite part was how ‘crazy’ the dogsled was.”

For a moment, Anne sat in silence, frowning. Then, she burst out laughing. “Okay, so Jerry isn’t the most intellectual person, but is that truly the way a person measures love?” She frowned again. “Our bond is formed on discussion of books, society…any number of things, and while I love you, I don’t _love_ love you. In a romantical way. So what is the ingredient that makes love romantic?”

“Well,” said Diana, smiling slyly, “do you feel your heart beat faster when you’re in Gilbert’s presence?”

Anne sighed. “Yes.”

“And do you feel your face flush?”

Throwing her flowers in her friend’s face, Anne glowered. “Yes.”

Diana couldn’t help but giggle, though she tried to maintain her light tone as she continued asking questions. “And do you talk to Gilbert about literature?”

“Yes.”

“Do you talk to him of your future?”

“Umm…” Anne blanched.

Diana quickly corrected herself. “I mean do you talk of your plans for your education and occupation?”

Her face clearing, Anne nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you tell him things you’ve only ever told me?” After a moment without reply, Diana prompted Anne. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Then I think you may be in love. The stars have decided it.” Diana smirked as Anne threw some grass at her.

“But Gilbert isn’t some tall, dark stranger who will sweep me off my feet. He isn’t a Heathcliff who broods on the moors for me. I don’t feel all that torment and romance when I look at him.”

“Anne, you’re so intelligent but you’re such an idiot,” Diana said, laughing. “You don’t know love when you see it. You’ve tricked something out with your imagination that you think is love, and you expect the real thing to look like that.”

Anne frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Who do you know in real life who actually has been in love the way the characters in your novels have been?”

“Well, I should imagine my parents—“

“No,” Diana said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “People we both know here in Avonlea.”

“Diana, no one here is truly in love!”

“It’s true that there aren’t any couples who fit your definition of true love, but there are couples who are happy here.” Diana grimaced. “Granted, not my parents.”

Scrunching up her face, Anne huffed. “I suppose Bash and Mary were happy. Their love story was quite the whirlwind. Imagine knowing you loved someone within the week! Bash was so sure.” Her voice trailed off as she continued her train of thought silently.

Diana smiled sadly. “Yes, they were happy. And so is Mrs. Lynde. I don’t think either of them had so much turmoil as any of your characters. I think love is quiet. It stays warm like the embers of a fire and doesn’t burn as bright as a flame.”

“Diana…that was beautiful and poetic.” Taking Diana’s hands in hers, Anne squeezed them tightly. “I will have to think on the sentiment as I don’t yet know how it will factor into my psyche.”

The girls smiled at each other and lay back in the grass. Diana felt the warm sun on her face. “I’m sure you will.”

Time seemed to stand still that afternoon. Content as they were to observe the world around them, the world obliged by simply being. Infinitely later, the world turned once more, and the pinks and oranges of the setting sun lit the sky on fire. The girls meandered back down the trail, hand in hand.

When it was time for their paths to diverge, they easily recited the good byes of their friendship. “Kindred spirits forever.”

* * *

It was late that night when Anne had finished saying her prayers. Now she lay in bed, eyes wide open, mind humming with energy but, strangely enough, without words. Anne’s body was achy in the way it was after a day of hard chores or an extra long walk. It was a satisfying feeling. Her mind felt warm and fuzzy. She smiled slightly to herself.

As she reflected on the day, she saw Diana’s face flash in her mind. She’d smiled her real smile, the one Anne hadn’t seen on Diana in a long time. She saw an image of Diana giggling while Anne threw flowers at her, and her eyes fluttered shut. It had truly been a glorious day. One Anne would remember all her life, she thought. She settled herself deeper into her bed, hoping that her body was tired enough to allow her mind to drift off.

While she waited for sleep to come take her for the night, she pondered the ideas she and Diana had discussed. They hadn’t solved the mystery of why attraction and love did not always exist together, but Anne thought she understood Diana’s perspective a little better now. It must be strange to feel such strong feelings for someone without the deep knowledge that you loved and trusted them. It was difficult enough to be constantly distracted by the physical cues of your body when you trusted them unequivocally. Or perhaps it was easier to be clear sighted about it all when you didn’t love the person? Maybe Diana was right that romantic love was quiet warmth that lasted paired with attraction. There was only one person she felt her body shift for and be hyper aware of. Only one person she trusted unequivocally.

Anne’s eyes flew open. _I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe,_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have this theory that Clara and Winnie are super close friends and they use people's perception of Clara's deafness to their advantage all the time. I have to say, I was so mad at the way they had Winnie react to Gilbert's confession. I hope this does her justice.
> 
> Also, who knew the "original bad boy" (TM Captain Holt) Mahler had such perfect song titles for all my chapters!?


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